


Just Go With It

by Salo



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Non-Canonical Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Armour, Rating May Change, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, plot holes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 69,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salo/pseuds/Salo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm looking for someone, but I have no idea who they are, where they came from or what the hell they're doing."</p><p>The Sole Survivor wakes up in the woods with amnesia and heads out in completely the wrong direction to find herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much my first fanfiction, so, uh... I hope you like it. The character will get a name eventually but until then prepare for a mega influx of she and her.

 

The first time she woke, there was only pain and confusion and a persistent clicking noise that she couldn’t recognise.

She tried to open her eyes but her vision swam like watercolours, hazy greens and whites blurring together to make an unintelligible mess. It was cold, but hot, and above all it hurt. She clamped her eyes shut and tried to focus on her other senses but exhaustion covered her in a heavy blanket of nothingness, blocking out everything but the rising fear in her chest, and even that was barely recognisable through the haze.

She tried to move her body, her limbs, anything. Even her fingers would barely clench when she tried.

Her head was too heavy to lift, so she remained on her back and fell again into the darkness.

 

\---

 

The second time she awoke was little better than the first. She had more control of her faculties now but with the blanket lifted away she was painfully aware of the wrongness that spread throughout her body.

It hurt. _What hurt?_ Everything. There was a chill that had settled deep in her bones and she was dimly aware that it might be the only thing saving her from burning up. She was sure she had a fever. She tried to move, her joints creaking like an old door and fighting her all the way as she brought her hand to her forehead to be rewarded only by a slick sheen of sweat on her skin. There was a sound rattling in her head, jimmying her thoughts like an old lock. It took an eternity to realise it came from outside her skull; it was wind, and a strong gust too. She was...outdoors? The bed on which she lay was not a bed and a fearful, tentative twitch of her fingers told her that for some reason she was lying in the dirt. 

The sheer pounding behind her eyelids protested when she tried again to open them and this time she was lucid enough to wait for the images to solidify. When the colours separated, she realised she was looking up at the sky through a canopy of dead trees, their gnarled branches stretching towards the dusky sky like claws. She brought her own hand up, stretching her fingers up into the sky to play among the stars that dotted the dark blue velvet, wondering if she had ever seen them so clearly before.

When her arm began to ache she brought it back down to her side and began the slow, laborious task of propping herself upright. She drew her legs into herself, sitting cross-legged in the cold earth and hunched over supporting her hands on her knees. She could make out scratches on her sandy thighs, dirt on her knees and hands. She also realised with a jolt that she was naked save for her lacy underwear an ugly device strapped tightly on her left wrist. Casting her eyes about she noted an absence of discarded clothing in her vicinity and that she was somewhere in the woods.

Her eyelids flitted closed again and she took a deep, steadying breath, swallowing the panic down into her throat before it could properly surface. Taking inventory, she mentally tallied the total sum of her possessions as fear and pain and a severe disorientation. Oddly enough, neither of these were listed under the blank inventory screen on her little wrist computer.

She stood slowly as she dragged herself off the ground, her legs threatened to cave and buckling once before she grabbed onto the nearest tree for support while she steadied herself. Her toes curled into the damp earth and she scraped her fingers against the rough bark to ground her senses properly. Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips, trying to remember if she’d had anything to drink since the coffee this morning.

_This morning?_

_Had_ she had coffee this morning?

Her breath stuttered in her throat and she let her head fall against the tree trunk, gripping on tightly for all she was worth as if it were the only thing tethering her to the living.

She didn’t remember whether she’d had coffee this morning.

...she didn’t remember anything.


	2. Chapter Two

A quick look at the map on her sad little wrist computer revealed absolutely nothing. She didn’t recognise the land mass shown there and the little pip indicating her position could have been anywhere else on the murky green screen for all the good the knowledge did her. It was better than nothing, though. There was a faint line which indicated the position of a main road a little further east which would inevitably lead to a town or city, and while she didn’t want to go traipsing into town in nothing but her smalls, being found rotting in the forest in her smalls was in no way better, so off she set.

At first the going was slow. She was disorientated, dizzy and had a killer headache pounding behind her eyelids. Her feet were bare and the ground was damp and prickly and as the sky grew ever darker it became more difficult to navigate the detritus safely. Soon the soles of her feet were scraped raw on rocks and fallen branches and the thought of rubbing dirt into her bloodied feet made tears prickle in her eyes. She couldn’t even wipe them away; her hands were covered in muck and she had nothing to clean them with. Her lack of clothing also posed another problem when she crested a hill and the wind picked up again. The night was getting bitterly cold and there wasn’t a single place on her flesh that didn’t burn whenever even the lightest breeze buffeted her.

She had been warmer where the trees were thicker; not much, but right now she’d be grateful for anything. Should she go back and try to nest in the thicket for a night? She’d never been camping – she thought she hadn’t, anyway. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to go. Could she die from a single night of exposure? Did predators come out at night or during the day? Where was she? _Who_ was she?

“One thing at a time, baby,” she whispered gently to herself as she shook the most important question from her head, her dwindling body heat escaping on her words into the air as a fine white mist. She’d been in the woods and there was nothing there for her. The only way was forward.

“Just keep walking. That’s it, just keep walking...” 

***  

She didn’t know how long she’d been going before she finally came across the shack. It felt like an age but the stars had barely moved when she looked up into the sky. She’d been using them to track the time rather than stopping to scroll through the jumbled facilities on her wrist computer, and when she looked down again saw a panel of unnatural wood settled in the trees not far off. At the sight her heart leapt, granting her the strength to pick up her pace and stumble over to it.

When she got closer she saw it was a small thing, probably only enough space for a single room, but smaller meant warmer and that’s all that mattered right now. Climbing up onto the rickety porch she pressed her face to the lone window trying to catch a glimpse beyond the shadows, but the grime was too thick to even see through the glass. Hammering on the door produced nothing. The owner probably only used it during hunting trips but at least there’d be a bed and probably some supplies. She could light a fire, warm up, and clean her injuries. She tested the handle with bated breath, gasping when it turned and throwing open the door and tumbling inside. She closed it again, leaning her full body weight against the wood to catch her breath before turning round.

Disappointment stabbed through her chest.

It was empty. The only furniture inside was a set of overturned drawers and the remains of a bed that had long since rotted away to nothing, the collapsed frame in pieces on the floor. She bit back a sob, sliding down the door to collapse bodily in a heap, wretched gasps scratching at her throat. A part of her wanted to give up right then and there, to fall asleep and hope tomorrow would find her waking up in a bed with warm sunlight streaking through curtains, but though the cabin protected her from the wind a persistent cold seeped under the door. She dragged herself to her hands and knees, almost collapsing under the weight of her own body, and crawled over into one of the corners across the room and away from the draught.

She had to squirm over a small heap of wood to get there, the pile scattering apart with a strange hollow clanking sound. As she scuttled into position she noticed something round by her feet and reached out, picking it up more for the distraction than genuine curiosity. Holding it up she manoeuvred the object around in her hands until she found enough light with which to inspect it.

Two hollow black eye sockets stared back at her.

It was a human skull.

She’d just crawled over the skeletal remains of a corpse.

Her fingers clawed into her hands and she shoved her knuckles into her mouth to muffle the scream, the thing dropping from her grasp and landing on the floorboards with a sickening crunch as she scrambled as far into the corner as she could go. There was a rattle, something breaking off and clinking away from the bone as it rolled.

A tooth?

She hunched in on herself, eyes shut tight as she wailed pathetically into her clenched fists and hot tears escaped to roll down her cheeks. They cooled on her skin almost instantly, but in her horror she didn’t feel the cold anymore. She didn’t feel anything but the instinctual fear that wracked her entire body. It was hard to breathe and she choked back tiny breaths, biting down on her knuckles, not even tasting the putrid dirt that covered them.

She remained like that until exhaustion overtook her and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be non-sobby adventures eventually. This is actually supposed to be a comedy...


	3. Chapter Three

 

Waking up was starting to be something of a traumatic experience for her.

When her eyes opened again she knew it hadn’t all been a horrible, horrible dream. She was still in the little shack which she now saw was more run-down than she’d noticed yesterday. The skeleton was still there too, stretched out in front of her though no longer intact after her stumbling. Its arm reached out towards her eerily but its skull had rolled to a stop by the adjacent wall, facing away from her, and while it was still horrifying, that helped.

She hadn’t been able to see much in the gloom and fear of last night but now there was enough light to chase the shadows away. The sun must have been high up in the sky judging by its rays shining in through the filthy window and also through cracks in the walls and ceiling. She guessed sometime after midday. The catatonic state she’d fallen into after her scare had left her feeling if not better, then at least more alert and in control of her own emotions.

She uncurled herself, stretching out with a groan as her stiff joints protested to the movement, and she rubbed her stained palms over her face before standing up. A cursory glance of the room revealed that it hadn’t been used in a long time. She wasn’t sure how long it took for skin to completely decompose but one look at the bones told her it hadn’t been a quick process, they were much too clean.

She walked the small perimeter of the room, nudging aside bits of rubble and refuse as she went, searching for any kind of supplies. Her hunt turned up a pack of bubblegum that had long since turned to mush which she ignored, and a can of potted meat which she snatched up triumphantly; her stomach was uncomfortably empty and had been making little grumbling noises since she’d woken up. As she hunched down with her prize she inspected the print on the label, checking for an expiry date. She realised it was too much to ask that it be fresh in the long-abandoned cabin but she hoped it wasn’t _too_ out of date and her mouth fell open with confused surprise when she discovered it didn’t expire until ’94. Peeling open the lid she scooped out mouthfuls of the unrecognisable meat with her fingers, barely chewing before she swallowed them down ravenously.

Once the can was empty and she’d satisfied her immediate hunger she let her attention drift back to the room. Over by the bed her eyes caught a glimpse of something shiny and she licked the grease off her fingers, stepping over to it cautiously and pulling it out from under the ruined bed frame. It was a pistol, basic but a weapon nonetheless. She turned it over in her hands, frowning at the weight. It was such a little thing, not enough heft to be comfortable with. Something prickled at the base of her skull and she stared down at her hands, marvelling at how her fingers knew where to hold it, how her shoulder knew how to steady it, how she knew how to check the mag to count how many bullets it held.

Muscle memory. She must have held a gun before.

It wasn’t quite the revelation she might have hoped for, the connotations it brought feeling a tad unsavoury, but it was something nonetheless. Right now it was all she had and while she didn’t know much, it brought the smallest bit of comfort to know that her body had retained something of who she was. She wasn’t starting completely from scratch. Not quite.

There was still the matter of clothing though; she wouldn’t survive long in her underwear. She looked coyly back at the skeleton... and at the decrepit fabric which draped over it.

“Alright... uh,” she cringed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, “Sorry about this...”

Inching closer to the skeleton, she took a deep sigh before she gingerly began to move the arm, lifting it by the radius between pinched fingers. With no ligaments to hold it together the skeleton broke apart causing her to flinch guiltily, but she was able to remove the tattered dress without too much trouble and put it on. It wasn’t nearly enough protection to be decent, time and damp having eroded great patches away, but what little cover it afforded was a welcome relief. She felt much less vulnerable, and also having a gun definitely helped.

She was ready to set off again.

A final once-over of the room confirmed she’d picked it clean so she took up her gun, opened the door and stepped out into the world before she could change her mind. Looking at the map on her computer again revealed she’d been heading in the right direction and she figured she was close enough to the road that she could make it there within the day. From there she’d flag down a car and get help, report herself as missing with the police or something, and this would all be over.

All she had to do was get to the road.

***

She played a game as she went; The ‘Who the Fuck Am I?’ Game. It helped pass the time and distracted her from the pain in her feet and the pain in her gut that had appeared not long after she’d eaten (she should she have cooked it first). There were no rules to the game and all she had to do was call out random names until one clicked. Unfortunately she was losing. She’d gone from Ann to Mandy so far with no success, mostly in alphabetical order and with a few other questions thrown in.

She was perplexed why she wasn’t panicking more over the fact that she had no idea who she was. In the grand scale of things it seemed a very close contender for her main grievance right now, second after not dying painfully in the woods. She’d see that the grass was brown and wonder why she could remember grass without remembering where she’d ever been on it. She’d thumb the small pistol she’d found and wonder why she knew how to use it. The game was odd, but it should have been more than that. She felt calmer when she shrugged it off and suffocatingly numb when she tried too seriously. She wondered what it was that she had forgotten, and wondered why she had forgotten it.

The game was all she had, though, so on she went.

***

If roads were the veins of a city, then any city connected by this one must be well and truly dead.

She’d emerged from the woods not more than an hour ago expecting to be greeted by the sight of passing cars and civilisation, but had found only broken asphalt and silence. A numbness had set over her then, a kind of static in the back of her mind that only got more and more impenetrable when she tried to think too hard on why everything felt so... wrong. When she’d followed the fractured remains onward and saw the first of many burnt-out, rusted old cars it had grown louder and louder until it blocked out the sound of the breeze and her lonely footsteps and she had to stop against one of the old cars to calm her breathing before it turned into a full panic attack.  

She’d stayed that way for a while, gulping in air and rubbing her forehead against the cool texture of ancient metal before moving on. She tried to tell herself that it was an old back road, a disused lane that had been allowed to rot away when better ones were built, and that if she followed it far enough it would connect to _something._ It _had_ to, and she’d followed it round and up a hill, past a dilapidated, boarded-up house and into the edge of a dilapidated, boarded-up town.

It was a horrifying sight. It was a physical punch to her stomach that almost knocked her over in the middle of the street. So many houses rose up on either side, ominous and still and lifeless and empty.

There should have been people. There should have been cars and animals and radios playing softly from open windows. Where was the sound of engines? Or the barking of dogs or the patter of pedestrians?

This was not right.

This was not right, not right, this is not right.

_What is this?_

She spun frantically, eyes searching wildly for signs of life, _any_ _life_ \- for just one little sign that she wasn’t completely alone in a dead world...

But there was nothing but bones: the yellow bones in the cabin; the black bones of the asphalt; the weathered white bones of the houses in front of her and the immense, staggering, incomprehensible grey bones of the old elevated freeway looming on the horizon beyond the town. She was dimly aware of a soft whine sounding through her clenched teeth at the sight but had no control over it. It had taken many men, many years to build and now it cut through the view like a collapsed and broken spine. A colossal beast brought low. She felt like the centre of a very lonely universe, the space around her growing larger and larger until it threatened to encompass everything she was.

Whatever had done this, whatever had caused this... she couldn’t stand against it.  

After that the game changed from ‘Who the Fuck Am I?’ to ‘What the Fuck Happened?’

It was a game she didn’t want to play. She didn’t even want to win.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She'll meet people in the next chapter, and probably get a name.
> 
> Sorry for the downer tripping but I just feel like her reactions to seeing a collapsed world warrant a whole bunch of conflicting and depressing shit. I promise this will get more upbeat.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and do point out any errors please.


	4. Chapter Four

 

She’d spent the night in an old house after prying the plywood off one of the lower windows with a discarded shovel. She dined on a meal of stale sugar bombs and puddle water – the latter made her little computer tick again for some reason, the former just grossed her out. After that she went upstairs and dragged an old stained mattress into the smallest room, shutting the door and collapsing onto it.

She fell asleep almost immediately, with only enough time to hope she would wake up again.

And she did wake, sometime in the night; not so much roused as ripped from slumber by the violence of a nightmare that she couldn’t even recall. The fear stayed with her though and exhausted as she still was, that static in her head was now too loud for her to immediately go to sleep again. Instead she spent about an hour playing around with all the little dials and doohickeys on her fancy wrist computer. It was an amazing piece of tech and the only thing she’d woken up with in the woods. It was not something you would just pick up with your groceries. There must have been a reason why she had it; it seemed to be keeping tabs on her vitals – literally, there was a tab for that – but it was filled with a whole bunch of numbers that she didn’t understand so she left it. There were other things to scroll through though and she was pleased to find it was a very useful device; less so when she discovered there had been a torch on it the whole fucking time, but better late than never. There was also some kind of organiser but to her annoyance it had nothing listed under it. She stared at the blank page for a while, listening to the lyrics of a sad song playing softly in the background before she created a new entry:

Find Other People

She nodded at a job well done, and then paused again before adding below that:

Find Yourself

It might have been pointless to note either of those huge issues down as a reminder, but it did give her a little satisfaction from having something there. Best of all, there was another interesting tab marked ‘Radio’ that was actually picking up a couple of stations. The relief that washed over her with the chords worked better than any stimpak ever could have, every muscle in her body relaxing for one blissful moment as she sank back down onto the mattress.

Her earlier fear was gone, assuaged for now with the realisation that there were definitely people out there to find, and soon she slipped away into the darkness, the lyrics following her into sleep.

_It’s all over but the crying..._

_And I can’t get over crying over you..._

***

When morning came she finished off the last of the sugar bombs and went out back to wash off some of the dirt in the puddle. With the soil and blood rinsed off her feet she saw they didn’t look too bad, not nearly as bad as they felt. Her computer had begun to click again but she ignored it in favour of stemming the trickle of blood that was now leaking from her nose. It went on at a steady pace for about ten minutes before she gave up, chalking it down to stress and tearing off a scrap of her dress to stuff into her nostril. She felt pretty good this morning, enough to ignore most of her maladies. She’d woken up to a radio announcer stumbling over the air with a voice like an angel falling down a hole and it was beautiful. The sun was shining, the good weather was warming her up, the world had apparently ended and she wasn’t dead. Nice.

She tucked her pistol into the waistband of her underwear and set off up the road for stage one of her plan, humming along as she went.

***

Within the hour she began to see signs of recent life and followed the trail hopefully. There were pockets where rubble had been cleared away, pushed to the sides and built up into junk fences, and she followed the fences round noting a couple of containers here and there that would have already been looted otherwise. There was also a weird creepy little monkey with cymbals that clashed when she approached which... she wasn’t even going to try and figure out, honestly. She picked her way through, sore feet growing more accustomed to the pain as she went, and turned a corner, walking straight into the line of fire of two raiders aiming at her from the second floor of a collapsed house.

Immediately she threw her hands up, torn between being overjoyed at having found other humans and concerned at their less-than-hospitable welcome.

“Hey! Hey, don’t shoot! I’m... I’m friendly.”

“Who the fuck is that?” one of the raiders muttered to his companion.

“It’s just some woman,” the other replied, lowering his gun, “wavin’ her arms about like some kinda idiot.”

“Is she serious?”

He leaned on the makeshift rails to peer down at her. She must have looked quite a sight; barefoot and in tatters, wild hair a mess of tangles and leaves. Her hands as well as face were black with grime and her nosebleed had soaked through the fabric and trailed down her front. She grinned when they lowered their weapons though, feeling safe enough to let her arms down.

“Thank god I found someone!” she called up, “I’ve been wandering around lost for days!”

The two men regarded her with suspicion, narrowing their eyes. They were silent for a moment, which was unsettling, but eventually conferred with each other before replying.

“What do you want?”

Her grin faltered and she cast her eyes about in confusion.

“...Some help, I guess?” she called back uncertainly, “I’m lost and uh, in trouble.”

“What kinda trouble?” the man demanded.

“What- well, I’m _lost._ I don’t know where I am... to be honest, I don’t even know _who_ I am. I seem to have lost my memory.”

The two men turned to each other then and began to mutter, too low for her to catch any of the conversation. When they turned back it was the brusque man who spoke again.

“You expect us to believe that?”

“I- It’s true!” she said, her voice a little too high to be calm. She hadn’t expected this kind of reception, “I don’t remember anything and I’m lost and I really need your help! Look, can we talk? May I come up?”

They spoke again, and then the man nodded.

“We’ll come down.”

There was something undeniably awkward about the encounter that set her teeth on edge, but her only alternative was to go back to being lost, and that wasn’t an option at all. For how long could she keep that up? Drinking from puddles and eating stale cereal because she hadn’t found the _right calibre_ of people? You would turn brusque here; this world seemed hard and unforgiving.

She tried to shake it off and waited patiently as one of them navigated his way with ease down a set of makeshift stairs. He stopped when he got close enough to see the gun nestled under the threadbare fabric of her dress and narrowed his eyes, so she took it out very slowly while maintaining eye contact and placed it on the floor, raising her empty hands. When he didn’t move she placed her bare foot on it and kicked, sliding it closer to him. He stepped forward and picked it up. She smiled as reassuringly as she could, as much for herself as for him.

He checked it over with a casual indifference before turning and starting back up to the second floor.

“C’mon then Girly, tell us your story.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got super long so I split it into two parts. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Your kudos makes me giddy.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter contains scenes of attempted sexual assault. I'll leave a summary below if you want to skip it.

 

She’d taken a seat on one of the chairs situated around an old kitchen table and told them her story which, admittedly, wasn’t much. They’d offered her beer and she’d refused, her caution winning out over her thirst. They were a little too close, a little too _hungry,_ for her to feel at ease. They were the only other people she’d seen though, and her fear of the unknown kept her from acting on her nerves.

They were coarse men in leathers, strong and intimidating with no social graces to speak of and enough weapons between the two of them to take down a bloody tiger. Both men were tanned from what looked like long hard days in the sun, each covered in grime and scars though the taller of the two, the one who hadn’t escorted her, seemed to carry more. He had a dangerous look about him. He seemed far too comfortable with those weapons and too disinterested in her weird situation to be humanitarian. It felt a little bitter, but even as he gave her a carton of water instead, she thought of how much safer she’d be once she could leave these people behind.

It wasn’t long after she’d gulped down the water that she felt something tickling in her nostril and reached up with a sigh, finding new blood on her fingers when she pulled away. The chattier of the men handed her a dirty old rag.

 “Sorry, it’s been doing this...” she took it from him and held it over her nose while he stared thoughtfully.

“Show us yer teeth.”

It was an odd request, but she did so curiously, and he leaned in even closer to stare into her mouth.

“Yep, thought so. You got rads, Girly. Makes your nose bleed and your gums trickle. Fucks you up. You needa get some RadAway in your system before your skin starts to fall off.”

“Are you being serious?”

He laughed, low and gruff, at the horrified look on her face, “Sure, but it ain’t no big deal. You can pick up RadAway at any dealer or trader.”

She nodded, dabbing at the fresh blood above her lip with a tentative finger. “It started bleeding this morning... I don’t suppose you have any of that stuff spare that I could use?”

His eyes lit up - that seemed to be the question he wanted from her.

“Sure, wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t, but medicine ain’t cheap, Girly. How you gonna pay for it?”

She swallowed, heat blossoming over her face as her nerves spiked. She didn’t have any real way of paying for it - she had been hoping he’d just want to help out another human being - but she’d already asked, and was now afraid of the direction this conversation was turning. She got the distinct feeling that she’d walked into a trap... probably from the first moment she’d come across them.

He sighed at her silence. “You got any caps?”

She looked at him in bewilderment, “Caps?”

“You know... bottle caps? Like you buy with.”

“You use bottle caps as currency?”

The look in their eyes seemed to turn bored the instant they discovered she had nothing of value hidden away for them. The only things she’d had on her was her pistol and her wrist computer, and she needed that too much to trade, even for medicine. They no longer appeared interested in talking to her and it hadn’t escaped her notice that aside from the dirty water, neither of them had offered assistance thus far. The shorter of the two had begun looking at her like he was shopping for dinner and her pulse sped up when he caught her watching him and smirked. His companion seemed less involved.

“She don’t even know what caps are?” he asked with a furrowed brow, “the hell is wrong with this broad?”

 “She ain’t bad lookin’ though...”

_Fuck._

She went still immediately, a severely nervous smile plastered on her face as they began to talk about her as if she weren’t even there.

“If you go for _just-out-of-a-garbage-heap_. You’ll come out dirtier ‘n you went in.”

“I don’t care. I kinda dig the bloody-bruised look.”

The other man snorted, shaking his head. She’d stopped breathing, her eyes glued straight ahead and every part of her body intent on listening to the conversation, hoping against hope that it wasn’t what it sounded like...

“Alright man, but you gotta clean up when you’re done.”

_FUCK._

“Wait, what...“

The taller man stood up and stretched as if they hadn’t been casually discussing something monstrous. He picked up his jacket off the back of the chair and put it on, not even looking at her, then nodded to his companion and took his leave. She could hear the sound his heavy boots made as he clomped down the stairs before his footsteps faded away, leaving her alone with the other man.

He watched her patiently for a few minutes, savouring the fear in her eyes and the rigidity in her spine. When he moved out of his chair she also jumped up abruptly, stepping behind it and dragging it back with her like some kind of shield.

“Look, mister, I think I should go...” her voice broke on the words and she flinched when he walked round the table towards her.

“Nah Girly, we ain’t even started yet...”

 When he stepped around the chair, so did she, still holding onto it and turning it with her so that they were no closer together.

“I don’t even know your name!” she pleaded.

“An’ I don’t know yours, so we’re good.” He grabbed the chair and yanked it out from under her grasp, tossing it to the side carelessly, “We’ll just have a bit of fun and then I’ll give you some meds, alright?”

He reached out and made to grab her wrist, following her as she tried to back away from him.

“No, I’m fine, so... I’ll just...”

Her eyes darted about the room, looking for something, _anything,_ to defend herself with, but he came in close and blocked her view with his mass.

“Didn’t you want some? Didn’t you ask for some? Well here’s how you pay me.”

“I don’t need it now, so let me go, okay?”

“I dunno what kinda hole you crawled out of girly but you ain’t ready for the Commonwealth.”

“The Commonwealth?” she whimpered, “Is that where I am?”

He laughed, and she wondered if he’d looked this cruel from the beginning. If he’d have shown her that face when she met him, she’d have bolted. She had to get away, get away right now – but how? She was breathing hard, gasping on her fear, but the sick bastard seemed to actually enjoy it. Her only escape was the door on the other side of the room and she was too far away from it with him blocking her path.

As he closed the gap between them and encased her wrists with his large hands she descended into full panic. She began to struggle ineffectively, kicking at his shins and knees in the hope she’d hit something valuable and he’d stumble.

“Let me go! Let me go! Let me- ah!” She fell backwards when he shoved her, hitting her shoulder and head painfully against the wall and sliding down to the ground.

“That shut you up, didn’t it?” he sneered, placing a heavy boot on her ankle. Her body seized up immediately in terror at what a little more of his weight could do to her bones. “You come in, drink our water, enjoy our hospitality, but you think you’re too good for us?”

She didn’t reply, wide eyes still staring down at his boot.

“Anyone else woulda shot you ‘soon as look at you, but we take you in, we take care of you. We’ve been alright to you, haven’t we?”

When she didn’t immediately reply he leaned a little more on her ankle and she winced, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, see, so it hurts my feelings when you start thinkin’ you’re too good to spend a little time with me.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding as he stepped off her ankle, but cowered further into the corner when he crouched down in front of her, flinching away from his outstretched hand.

“C’mon Girly, don’t be like that,” he gripped her jaw painfully tight, yanking her head up to face him, “what did I just say? You ain’t too good for this, c’mon...” His other hand gripped her arm and pulled her roughly forward, catching her round the shoulders as she fell forward.

“No, please...” she whimpered, angling her body away from him and looking over at the open door.

He squeezed her closer, staring into her face before rubbing his chin against the skin of her cheek, stubble scratching her soft skin.

“C’mon, I’ll make it nice for ya...”

“Please don’t do this,” she almost sobbed at the words, shutting her eyes tightly and trying to hunch in on herself. Tears ran down her face as his rough hand moved over her breast, palming her through her dress, his roving fingers only clawing tighter when she tried to move again. She placed her small hand on his wrist and tried to push him away, squirming in his heavy hold. “I don’t want this, please...”

When she felt lips on her cheekbone she lost it, fingers clawing madly but ineffectively at the leather cuff of his jacket, her frantic struggles increasing in urgency.

“I said stop that!” He braced himself and switched his grip to grab hold of both her wrists, jerking her body so she faced him completely. She writhed away from him, pulling and tugging and in her panic lunging forward. He’d clearly not thought her capable of hurting him and was entirely unprepared for the full force of her skull connecting with his nose. He reeled back, letting go of her while he plastered his hands to his face, blood seeping between his fingers. She jumped up, careening away from him to collapse against a set of drawers. By the time his eyes had stopped watering enough for him to glare at her she’d already picked up the bulkiest thing within reach; her own 10mm pistol. His eyes momentarily grew wider in the second it took her to bring it down on his head and he fell back on his ass, grabbing his head and groaning loudly. The blow hadn’t been enough to knock him out like she’d hoped and she was about to bring it down on him again when clarity cut through her panic enough for her to realise she was about to bludgeon a man _with a gun_.

She switched her grip on the pistol, steadying it with both hands and pointed it at his head. He looked up at her, eyes wide more in shock than panic.

“Stay down!” she ordered in a withering voice, trying to calm her breathing through clenched teeth, “Stay down or I’ll shoot you!”

He went still, holding up both his hands in front of his chest.

She took a few steps back without breaking her stare and when she’d backed away past the table, turned and ran through the door.

As she bounded down the stairs desperately trying not to trip she heard him call the alarm, heard the words, _“little bitch,”_ and knew they wouldn’t be forgiving if she couldn’t escape now. If she was caught again, death might be the best thing she could hope for. She ran on, as fast as her legs and lungs would take her.

The sound of her own blood pumping rang loud in her ears and she almost didn’t register the ping of a bullet missing her and hitting the ground to her left. It was followed by more as other raiders heard the commotion and her legs almost gave out when she felt a heavy shove in her shoulder, the impact forcing her against an old car. Her hands grazed over the rusted metal and she choked back a sob as she pushed off and onward, ducking around the nearest corner. Bare feet pounded over the broken pavement, through the shell of an ancient diner and back out into the street on the other side.

She needed to take stock of the situation but didn’t dare stop running and pushed on, ducking and weaving down as many turns as she could while she got as far away from her assailants as possible. She registered someone getting to their feet to her left and changed course accordingly, not even slowing enough to see who it was. She didn’t care, only knew that she could see the road leading out of town and that she needed to be as far away from this place as possible. 

She completely missed when that someone was joined by more figures, all rising up from the refuse with outstretched arms and scarred snarling faces drawn to the direction of the raiders’ gunfire. She just ran and ran until she reached woodland again, until her knees hit the dirt and she went down, crawling into the brush and curling in on herself, biting the heel of her palm to silence the choked sobs that wracked her body.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: the guy was a dick and tried to touch her so she head-butted him and ran off. Now she's crying again.
> 
> Next chapter will have her getting actiony.


	6. Chapter Six

 

She hid for what felt like it must have been hours before she dared to crawl out of the bushes again. It had been terrifying, and not what should have happened! How could people be so cruel and hideous? They weren’t like people at all, they weren’t even animals: they were worse than animals. Animals killed you quickly. They had brought her in and given her hope and then snatched it away.

They had toyed with her as they preyed upon her, and it had amused them.  

When the adrenaline had worn off she’d broken down and cried, _again_. She just couldn’t help it. It was too much and too painful to be trapped in such a terrible world. It was an open map of her nightmares with horrors at every turn. She’d believed she was going to be rescued. Those monsters had shown her otherwise.

She wasn’t going to be rescued.

She was all on her own.

It hurt. It hurt so much. Like, so _so_ much. Particularly in her left shoulder, which was odd because that wasn’t usually where she experienced her emotions from and-

“Oh my god...”

She’d been shot.

She flinched and immediately started prodding with her fingers, frantically feeling the shredded flesh beneath the blood, poking around for a bullet. It was painful and she cringed, biting back a groan as she mapped the extent of the injury. She’d never been shot before, she didn’t know what to do! There was no bullet, and the wound, while not shallow, was not deep enough to have done any lasting damage. A graze... could she still bleed out from a graze? That was a lot of fucking blood.

“Oh god, oh god, why? Why? Why are all these terrible things happening to me?” She whimpered, stared up at the sky with her fingers clutched over her wound, her almost comical expression both horrified and genuinely, really confused. No reply came.

She had no words for the situation, or thoughts for that matter. She Could Not Deal. She just tucked her gun back into the side of her panties, pressed down on her shoulder and shuffled expressionlessly forward.

***

About an hour later, an hour of slowly seeping red and putting one foot in front of the other, she came to a barricade over on the road. She’d been following it at a distance, not exactly stealthily but not announcing her presence either. She barely had the mental faculties to consciously keep an eye out for more thugs but her body was on autopilot and it was very afraid. When she came to the barricade with its abandoned armoured vehicle and its metal cage, her interest peaked enough to wake her up. Interesting enough to get a closer look.

She headed over to the road, keen eyes taking inventory of the scene. She was momentarily startled when her inspection landed on a large human inside the cage but after moments of crouching low and glaring at it she realised it wasn’t some giant mutant but a suit of old power armour, left here long ago when there was still militia to keep order with it. She huffed and patted her chest at her paranoia and her fanciful imagination and, when she’d confirmed there was nothing lurking ahead, moved into the site. The power armour stood still and imposing, like some great guardian statue. That would be some serious protection... The cage door was locked via a terminal but it was somehow still active and she had no difficulties hacking through the system, nimble fingers dancing over the keys and slipping in through the back of the code. She hummed in approval and released the lock.

The armour was rusty, but intact. The wear hadn’t reached through the plating and her appraisal looked positive... until she came to the back and remembered that these suits required power to work; a fusion battery that was not included. She searched the camp but there was little to rifle through. A green box inside the carrier held ammunition for a gun she didn’t have and there was an old satchel which would come in handy. The suit’s maintenance kit was there too but there was nothing else of interest. No power core in sight. She sighed.

Fusion cores were used to power many things: vehicles, weapons and armour, robots and generators... Her best chance of finding one nearby would be in the generator room of a larger structure. She had actually passed one such building earlier but had declined to go inside, reasoning that whatever danger lurked within probably outweighed the benefits of a temporary shelter in the middle of the day. That was no longer the case, so she went back.

A more thorough inspection revealed it to be some sort of retirement home. It had the cookie-cutter architecture of a place designed to convey comfort – the gentle sloping roofs really nothing more than a lid for the box they hid the infirm in to be forgotten. The board out front read Mystic Pines and she took a moment to log a marker for it on her map before pushing open the front door and skulking inside.

It was foul, the musk of decay and abandonment permeating through the dust that covered everything. It smelt like time; the ever-marching, unstoppable passage of time etched in the sleeping bones, trapped forever in the same moment that had turned the world to rubble. There were old Halloween decorations strung in tatters across the reception desk and little tacky plastic pumpkins grinning almost as widely as the skeletons that watched her pass. Her bare feet made no sound on the musty carpet that ran the length of the hallway but she took care as she went, making as little fuss as possible so as not to wake them. They sat in the chairs in what had once been a recreation room, or lay in the beds that she saw through open doors as she searched for a staircase that would lead her to the basement. She came across a kitchen area and found food, a tin of beans that she stashed in her satchel greedily for later and a box of devilled eggs that she discarded for fear of food poisoning. She took her chances in two of the empty rooms, rifling through old drawers for something more substantial to wear, but had no luck. She wouldn’t need it once she was in armour anyway. She did find bobby pins and an inhaler though, the latter of which she stuffed into her bag with the beans, the former she found use for when she soon came across a greenhouse with a security partition with a white medkit on the far wall.

It was over past a row of shelves in some kind of once supremely-secured potting shed. There were only a few things you might grow that you’d want under lock and key and she couldn’t really see any of that happening at a retirement home. The evidence looked suspicious but there was no way of knowing - whatever had grown here once was as dead as everything else in the place, including the skeletal sentinel sitting across from the door.

His empty eye sockets stared out as she crept by him into the room and over to the container to pull at the latch. It was locked. The box was too sturdy to bash open without destroying the contents, and the noise was likely to attract unwanted attention. She didn’t know what that unwanted attention actually was but unless it was a trained medical professional, she just wasn’t ready to meet with it yet. She inserted a pin into the lock and took a small length of garden cane to rotate the mechanism carefully. There was that muscle memory again, taking control of her dextrous fingers to manipulate the lock with an experienced finesse and she settled into an easy rhythm, falling into the ticking of tumblers and the scraping of rusted metal until another sound nudged at her concentration.

_“Why you?”_

She paused in her efforts, unsure if she’d actually heard anything. The static was suddenly coming back. It was so distracting she could hardly hear the clicking of the tumblers anymore and her fingers clenched so tightly that the pin snapped in the lock. She drew in a deep breath through her nose and reached for another, pointedly staring ahead.

She pushed it from her mind, the seconds ticking by as she fiddled with the lock, turning slowly and adjusting until she heard the giving click that marked success. She was elated, a twitch of her lips that broke into a grin as she opened the container and found precious medical supplies inside.

She wasted no time, grabbing one of two stimpacks and flicking off the needle cap, jamming it quickly into her shoulder before she could contemplate how much it would hurt. She let out a satisfied hiss as the contents seeped in and began to knit the wound together with a burning, itching sensation.

There was a can of purified water too and she slid down the wall to rest as the medicine did its job, pulling open the tab and drinking deeply as she waited. Even her feet felt better. She wiggled her toes, warmth blossoming in her chest as the overflow in the syringe washed away all her scratches and scrapes.

Her happiness didn’t last.

 _“Why you?”_ came the whisper again, and she slowly raised her eyes to the interrogator.  

The clothing had long-since rotted away revealing the same yellowed bones that lay everywhere in this world. Whoever it used to be had been listening to the radio when The End had happened, and remained there now, bare frame sprawled in a wheelchair in front of the doorway, watching as she rifled through their possessions like a thief. She forced herself to look, to take in the details, to answer that eternal stare. She had taken so much already and she was still taking and she owed them that, at least.

_“Why you?”_

 “I’m sorry...”

It felt wrong to say it, as if her words could never be enough. As if uttering them would only be an insult. But she was. She didn’t even know what she was sorry _about_ , only that she was... so, so sorry, so full of remorse and anguish for the things she had forgotten.

 _“Why you?”_ the bones whispered again, echoing in her mind like a million voices at once, their pain and desperation growing louder and louder until it felt like the whole world was falling apart, “ _Why- “_

“I’M SORRY!” she screamed, her voice shrill and broken and tears bristling in the corners of her eyes...

And then a loud thump cut through the static and the moment was forgotten.

She was not alone.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

 

She froze, every sense acutely focused on the direction the noise had come from. Something was definitely moving out there, scraping against the walls. Was it a human? Another brute, or the one from before? Surely not, but...

She quickly stuffed the remaining medpak into her satchel as quietly as her frayed nerves would allow and then pulled her pistol out, cocking the slide into position. There were few bullets in her pistol and while she seemed to be familiar with it she didn’t want to bet her life on how well she’d handle actually using it.

The shuffling was coming closer, slurring and hissing and moving in a way that, even though she couldn’t see, she knew definitely wasn’t human. Aside from its vocals, whatever it was moved quietly. A predator. She just couldn’t think of any animal that made a noise like that, her brain working overtime to rifle through a vast mental encyclopaedia of animals, but nothing she could think of shambled in such a way.

She crouched behind the open door, peering through the narrow metal grating into the room beyond. What shuffled in from the hallway was neither animal nor human, it was some ghastly in-between. Some putrid monstrosity dredged up from old horror flicks that demolished everything she knew about reality in one footstep.

It was a mother-fucking zombie.

Had she been capable of breath she would have screamed, but every muscle in her body had gone rigid, paralysing her on the spot. This was fortunate and she remained unnoticed, the creature ambling on by further into the room. She could see its black, soulless eyes, and the hunger trapped beyond the dark sclera. Its rotting flesh caught the light through the windows, revealing muscle and veins underneath patches of freakish translucency as it turned away from her and began to paw through trays of dirt on the far side of the room. She’d have to move eventually. It would find her. It would find her and tear the skin from her bones and sink its teeth into her face.

She had two choices: Shoot it, and risk drawing more from the unexplored side of the building, or slink past the way it had come from and risk being caught from behind. Neither option was good.

In the end necessity won out. If she was quiet enough she could make her way down to the basement and hopefully find the power core. If she had to shoot and run after that, then so be it.

Every movement she made as she crawled round the door crashed against her ears like a sledgehammer, and her heartbeat was so loud she thought the zombie might catch her from that alone. Her cautious creeping failed to break through the sound of its digging, however, and when she made it out the partition she cast one look at its back before she snuck out into the hallway.

When she saw a door at the other end of the hallway that she knew _must_ lead to the lower floor she sped up, her longer footsteps momentarily thudding against the carpet. There wasn’t time to panic at the sound of a terracotta pot smashing back in the greenhouse. She had to move. Now. She scurried to the door and pulled at the handle desperately.

It was locked.

She clenched her teeth, dropping her pistol on the floor and pulling out another bobby pin.

“ _Please-please-please-please_ \- ” she pleaded under her breath as her shaking fingers jimmied the lock, turning the pin with urgency.

Behind her the growling grew louder.

“ _Please-please-please-_ FUCK!”

The pin snapped.

The monster heard.

She looked over her shoulder, her terrified eyes locking into its enraged black ones. It reared up, hunching its shoulders and letting out a guttural snarl. In the second it took to shove another pin in the lock it had fallen into a crouch and begun bounding towards her, snapping its teeth in anticipation of her flesh.

“ _Fuck-fuck-fuck_ -YES!”

The lock clicked and she yanked open the door and dived round it, slamming it closed behind her and throwing all of her weight onto it as the creature hit against the wood with the full force of its body. It almost threw her back, but on the recoil of the impact she managed to get the door closed, turning the lock and trapping the zombie on the other side. Where her gun now was.

At least she was alive.

It also seemed like she was correct. She waited a few moments until she was sure that the monster’s violent flailing wouldn’t break the door down and then scurried down the staircase to the lower level. When she turned the corner she met with the tell-tale hum of an active generator. Relief burst through her throat with a sob and she hurried down the steps to bathe in the warm blue glow of the fusion generator. The core sat in the receptacle at the centre of it like a fine prize and she hit the eject switch, eager fingers yanking it out.

It was still warm in her hands, stroking her skin like the sun’s rays and she cradled it to her chest possessively, soaking in the residual heat. For the first time since waking up she felt like she’d claimed an actual victory. She had made a plan, carried it through and come out the other side despite the dangers. She had accomplished something.

Now she could accomplish more.

She stuffed the core in her satchel and took in the basement around her for the first time, realising that there was no exit except back the way she’d come... which was blocked now. The room upstairs had windows in it though and when she crept back up she was pleased to find they were large enough for her to get through. The glass was intact but the frames had rotted and she pushed cautiously at the edges until it came out in a single piece, falling onto the grass below with a dull thud and shattering quietly. The monster was still clawing at the door so it still believed her trapped. Good.

She clambered up onto the windowsill, dragging her legs over. It wasn’t a large drop and she felt capable of anything right now, so she jumped off, angling forward enough to avoid the broken glass underneath. Once her feet hit the floor she started running at full pelt, not stopping until she was back at the barricade.

***

She’d made good time on her expedition and returned to the power armour with enough light left to assess its condition. She unlocked the console again and entered the cage, pulling the fusion core from her bag and carrying it round to the back of the suit. It took some finesse (a fist) to get the thing into the receptacle and her hands dropped to the crank, clutching tightly for all she was worth.

She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and turned...

Steam hissed from the armour as the motor came to life, disengaging the locks on the seam of the suit and releasing the back panels which swung outwards like a frightening mechanical butterfly.

“Yes!” She pumped her fist in the air, hopping around gleefully. She placed her hand tenderly on the right arm, stroking lovingly down to the armoured gauntlet.

“No one can hurt me now...”

After rushing out and dragging the box of tools back into the cage with her, she shut the door and shoved the toolbox behind it. According to the HUD it had been in fantastic condition considering the rust on its plates, but it was missing a few special adjustments.

And oddly enough, she knew just how to make them.

When the sun dipped under the horizon she switched on the lamp on her computer, too intent on her task to even consider sleeping tonight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't need any STR or END if you've got INT... and a tank suit.


	8. Chapter Eight

 

Having power armour changed everything.

She was no longer the scared little nothing she’d been in the woods. She was a walking fucking tank with a tactical display and a hostile-tracking navigation system. She was a rock in the middle of a hurricane, weathering anything this hellhole threw at her.

She’d had no weapon but the first time she was caught scavenging she’d crushed a man’s skull with her armoured fists, the internal pistons doing most of the work for her. It had been a surreal experience. His face had exploded into a shower of red petals. She had stared down at the man, his eyeball hanging out his shattered socket by a thick red thread, her hands hovering in the air where his head had once been, his brains smattered over her bracers.

She’d vomited in her helmet, bile and snack cakes oozing down the inside of her visor.

Then she’d laughed. A lot.

A part of her was still laughing now.

“ _It’s okay. You don’t have to be sane_ ,” said the Suit, “ _I’ll take care of you_.”

***

She still couldn’t remember her actual name but in the grand scheme of things that wasn’t important anymore. She was discovering other things about herself that were far more interesting than any Mandy or Margaret.

For instance: she was an inventor of some kind; good with her hands and a god-damn necromancer with her fingers. She could bring even the shoddiest piece of tech back to life with the most hacked-together fixes her imagination could come up with.

It settled her nerves too, as days went by. Working with her hands and throwing her concentration into the smallest activities was grounding, calming. If she needed something, she made it out of scavenged scrap. If that scrap didn’t work, she’d try again. Over and over, as many times as it took. She had no patience for the little victim hiding in a bush but infinite patience for the intricacies of her Suit and the upgrades she made from things she found in the ruins.

This she apparently knew, so she clung to it, and it was pleasing.

Over time she exhausted the resources in the area around Mystic Pines and had to move further out for more supplies. She ended up in a place she discovered was South Cambridge, near Boston. Boston – that was America. Had she even _been_ to America before?  

No. No she had not.

It kind of explained the high crime rate and poor public services though.

The pickings were good here in Boston - if you were careful and had a tank suit - and she situated herself in an old Red Rocket gas station that had a working power armour station. She didn’t go hungry or cold here. She found a new set of clothes in the ruins of an old store: a clean pair of denim shorts and a greyed tank top, stockings (with only a few moth holes) and a long men’s coat that she took in by weaving electrical wire through holes she’d made with a nail. She also found medical supplies and cans of purified water, and in boarded-up houses she’d often find food still in the old refrigerators - most of it was beyond edibility but her stomach started to adjust to eating the least stale items.

There were weapons to be found too, if you liked that sort of thing. A lot of the hostiles used some kind of homemade pistols made of duct tape and glue and bits of pipe and metal. She was impressed by their ingenuity but found the execution lacking and scrapped any of these she found around for parts. It’s not like she needed them, there were 10mm pistols everywhere. She’d found them in a bucket, on a chair... inside a god damned fridge. Just fucking _everywhere_. At this rate she’d be better off throwing the pistols at enemies and saving the ammo. She’d avoided conflict when she could anyway, no longer running from it but never running _to_ it.

The day she found a miniature nuke lying around on an old coffee table she’d given up and gone back to the Rocket, cracking open a bottle of scavenged whiskey and drinking until she fell asleep in her suit. She hadn’t left it since. It had been two days of jumping at every tiny noise before she’d gone back to retrieve it, carrying it at arm’s length outside of town and burying it ever-so-carefully under a rock, marking the location on her map to avoid in future.

Mostly, she stayed for the scrap components.

The first modification she made to her new skin was an obvious choice. If the world wanted to prey on that weak little girl, then she’d have to get rid of her. A complete power suit hid the shape of your body, the colour of your hair, your height, your gender. It didn’t hide your voice though. There was already a modulator in the helmet to transmit sound and with some pieces from an old protectron unit it was no huge task to increase and deepen the distortion. She also snatched some pieces from an old PA system in a burnt-out supermarket to integrate noise-cancellation into the microphone, and the ability to choose when to transmit audio. It was a tad cumbersome to fit in but the added barrier against the outside world made her feel a little safer, and that was all that really mattered.

A more streamlined HUD was next, one that could display more detailed information, and to recalibrate the terms on which notifications were displayed. This had taken longer as she’d had to find a console capable of making the upgrades. Getting something that sophisticated to power up again had required an excessive amount of fusion cores, and fusion cores were her new life blood. It had been worth it though, and now the Suit was capable of highlighting living targets and giving a tactical analysis of perceived threat-levels (everything was set to 100% for now). She spent days checking and triple-checking the integrity of the Suit’s default systems, patching up weaknesses and any design oversights and installing a port to connect her wrist computer to until she felt the Suit’s capabilities were finally... adequate.

And then, because the Suit had been good, she gave it a new paint job: black with a night-blue undercoat, sanded at the joints and edges to allow the colour through. It looked very smart.

***

It could be days in-between scav runs, days leaning over a makeshift workbench using a scratched magnifying glass to solder tiny pin pricks on a circuit board, or running diagnostics on her modifications; days of singing along to the radio or trying to remember the lyrics to other songs as she hand-cut puzzle-pieces of metal to make new components; days without seeing another living thing. She wasn’t lonely. As weeks went by she felt like her life was returning to some sense of normalcy, a feeling of not-panic in her bones that told her this was the way she’d always lived - perhaps with better facilities, but the challenge was ultimately more refreshing than depressing. She had the Suit, and the Suit had her. They both looked after each other and for a while that was enough.

Then came the merchant caravan.

She’d been on the roof of an old diner ripping the heavy wiring out of a lighting system when gunfire rang out across the square. She’d paid it no mind at first – the locals were an arbitrary bunch, even with each other – but then she’d heard the desperate cries, the sort of cries that someone who wants to live would make, not someone who wants to kill.

She didn’t know what life-threatening curiosity came upon her to make her investigate, but when she navigated over the rooftops for a closer inspection, she wished she’d ignored it.

Over down on the street she could see could see a small group of newcomers trapped in a kill-box the raiders had set up, back-to-back around some hilarious and insane two-headed cow with a bunch of junk strapped to its back. They were outnumbered and outmatched, their plaid shirts no match for even the junk pistols the raiders were using. There were guards but they didn’t seem to be faring much better. She saw a woman in heavier leather clothing roll behind a car to take aim at a raider in one of the upper windows, and then she saw the woman’s body lurch and drop as she was taken out by a sniper hiding on the opposite roof.

A small, faraway part of herself was a little impressed. Usually the locals were less subtle with their ambushes. They’d set up great big scrap walls and plant pieces of each other outside like flower gardens, which was pretty much akin to a giant neon sign that said: “RAIDERS HERE. COME AND BE MURDERED.” The nearest hotspot was a half-hour distance away, and while not far, raiders rarely seemed to leave their castles beyond a few blocks. The scene below had required at least minimal planning and a modicum of coordination. That wasn’t easy for a group of people with the combined intelligence of a biscuit. They’d really worked for this. Perhaps she’d wounded their pride by prancing past their strongholds and stealing all the desk fans. They were out for a win, and it seemed like they were going to get it.

She knew the group needed help, she knew they were going to die otherwise, and she knew what that feeling was like. But... she was afraid.

Not because of the raiders, not because of the fighting... because of the strangers.

Raiders didn’t want to talk, they just wanted your stuff. They couldn’t have it but she didn’t take it personally when they tried. Even if it was inefficient and reprehensible, they seemed to have more of a life plan than she did and the lazy pot-shots they took at her now were more out of obligation than an intent to harm. They’d formed some kind of unspoken truce, and neither worked to disturb the other.

These travellers though, they were... like her. Not killers, just people trying to survive. They’d use their words instead of bullets and their hands instead of fists. If she got involved now she knew she’d have to engage with them on some level, it’s not like she could let valuable insight just walk on by. If she got involved she’d have to become part of their faction, become part of the Not Killers. She’d have to _rejoin society_. Just when she was figuring out how to live here, the world had grown even bigger.

And they’d have inevitable answers to questions she didn’t want to ask.

...but was her fear more valid than theirs?

She groaned, running her metal hand down the front of her helmet. The raiders wouldn’t forgive her for this. She was about to jump in front of their best prospect and tell them they couldn’t have it. They’d track her down and even the Suit couldn’t stand up against an onslaught. If she did this, there would be no turning back...

But what did she have to go back to anyway? Was she going to spend the rest of her life living in a gas station, eating dry cereal and trying to sleep through the whispers and the static?

...and how well would she sleep at night knowing she’d let people die while she stood by?

***

The sniper didn’t notice the sound of heavy stomping above the clash of gunfire until she was leaping from the adjoining rooftop into their nest. He had enough time for the shock to show in his eyes before she ripped the rifle out of his hands and slammed it into his chest. He reeled back, almost falling off the edge as he tried to light a Molotov cocktail to fend off his unexpected attacker.

“You! What the fuck- “

She grabbed him by the shoulder before he could tumble to his death, taking his cocktail with her free hand and shoving him down onto his ass.

“Stay down.” The voice wasn’t even hers, its low synthetic tones menacing and full of promises she’d never make with her own tongue. It was the first time she’d directly spoken with any of the raiders, and it appeared to have the effect she wanted. He ceased struggling and nodded dumbly, able to do nothing but watch as she walked past him and stepped smoothly off the edge of the roof, feet thundering as she met the concrete below with an awe-inspiring crash.

As the dust from impact began to clear she straightened up, her HUD automatically highlighting people through the grime with the help of her wrist computer’s targeting system. When everyone had recovered from her quake they went still, staring as she stood alone in the centre of the road, neither side knowing what to make of her. A silence had fallen over the street as everyone was waiting for her to make a move, but the raiders weren’t about to let go of their prey when they’d got their teeth in and she knew they’d recover any moment now.

She walked purposefully forward, not taking her eyes off the largest group of ground raiders locked in her sights, pausing briefly as she passed the newcomers to thrust her cocktail out to the side expectantly.

“Light.” She demanded of no one in particular.

It took seconds for whomever to decide whether to obey; seconds which allowed the raiders to brand her an enemy and fire several shots at her. She looked down at the chip where one bullet had ricocheted off her chest piece, a sigh escaping her lips but not the Suit’s helmet at why she even bothered to put paint on it if everyone was going to be shooting it back off all the time. The hit had convinced the strangers that she wasn’t a threat though, and they began gathering themselves to get back into the fight, one of them holding out a lighter and igniting the cloth wadded into the neck of the bottle. She stared at it for a moment, not actually knowing how a Molotov worked in practice, before taking her chances and throwing the bottle into the midst of her targets, then ploughing through the flames and their defence without further ado.

The raiders had tried to scatter when the bottle erupted but she was already among them, swinging her new rifle like a bare hunk of metal at anyone who tried to keep fighting. She fought well, sheer strength and protective armour covering for her lack of experience. Her radio was still on and her humming along soothed the wrenching in her chest, but unless she chose to enable it no sound would escape her Suit. In appearances she was a stoic force of nature, a controlled hurricane, so far removed from the girl crying in the dirt that they weren’t even the same person anymore. Teeth and eyes rolled, noses burst open, jaws broke and ribs cracked as she rammed the butt of her new gun into their assailants relentlessly, positioning herself between the raiders and her new allies. Behind her they had rejoined the fray, their vigour renewed like their chance of survival as they found help on their side, shooting anyone too distracted or trying to skirt around her in-between taking care of the raiders on the upper levels.

That was good. She may have had a weapon in her hands but it was about as much good as a large stick would be to her right now. The barrier that kept her protected from the world worked both ways. It dulled her senses and muted her feelings (both physically and mentally). It was like trying to determine textures while wearing mesh gloves, and hindering her ability to gauge the weight and appropriate handling of objects; objects such as a rifle.  She wasn’t about to start experimenting with it during danger, not with her own life and others on the line - especially when using it like a short staff appeared to be working just as well. She hit to injure, not to kill. She wasn’t a murderer. That was the whole reason she was doing this to begin with. Death was a finality and she rarely dealt in absolutes.

Her new allies were not quite so merciful.

They didn’t have the luxury of armour that allowed her her portion of clemency. They shot to end this, and while she was content to let a wounded dog limp away, they shot to ensure it would never bite again. She didn’t begrudge them that; she actually agreed with it. She just couldn’t do it herself, not while there was _any_ other option available to her.

The accusing voices were already so loud. If she added anymore to the cacophony she might never know silence again.

When the last of the raiders had been dealt with or escaped, she finally turned her attention to the group. They seemed bruised but not beaten. There were only three of them left after that guard had taken a bullet earlier but they would survive their injuries, already pulling out meds from the supplies on their (god-damn laughable) two-headed cow. She kept her distance, painfully aware that aiding them had cost her her workshop. The raiders may have been dealt with but for her the real danger had not passed. She was lost in the woods again.

One of them, a male, broke off from the little group dusting himself off as he stepped cautiously closer to address her.

“Hey there,” his voice like sandpaper on metal. “Thanks for the help, brother. We lost one of our guards to super mutants on the way down from The Slog, thought we were done in for a moment there.”

He grinned at her gratefully, and she saw desiccated lips scraping over jagged teeth.

Her HUD targeted the stranger, outlining his body signature in red and flashing, a warning sound screaming from the threat detection program; a warning sound screaming from the memory of hungry black eyes and gnashing teeth in the greenhouse.

He was a zombie.

They were all zombies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long chapter but I didn't want to split it because I'm excited to be writing civilisation soon.  
> Your comments so far have all given me a wonderful warm feeling in my tummy, it's really been lovely to hear from you!


	9. Chapter Nine

 

She raised her rifle over her shoulder to bring it down in his face but as she lunged forward, he lunged back, falling back onto the floor and bringing his arms up to protect himself. His comrades cried out, the med supplies dropping from their hands as they began to babble, arms stretched beseechingly to her but bodies hunched instinctively away. She found it hard to understand the words through the gravel of their voices, too fast and too panicked for her to register anything but the tone. They were pleading for their friend. That was not expected.

_...am I the bad guy now?_

She did not drop her weapon but she didn’t bring it down on his skull either. The pair had both frozen in the moment, David and Goliath locked together.

She looked down into his face, into the freakish abyss of his eyes. There was fear there, but also an unapologetic honesty. He didn’t flinch under the weight of her posturing, only stared into her visor silently, forcing her to look into his eyes before she killed him.

She was reminded again of the greenhouse and the monster that had screamed for her blood, with its stygian eyes and necrotic flesh and fingers like claws ready to rend her apart. She disabled the red overlay and took him in as he really was. He had the same black eyes; the same sloughing skin; the same corpselike maw... but behind that she saw weathered acceptance there, exhaustion, judgement, and _a soul._

 _‘Had he always looked this cruel?’_ she remembered thinking about the raider that had tried to touch the frightened girl from the woods, _‘They weren’t humans. They were worse than animals...’_

Humans, animals, zombies, who could even tell the difference anymore?

The boundaries and boxes she’d heretofore used to describe the world crumbled in an instant.

Undead or no, he was still a _person_. Her immediate and automatic reaction to perceived danger had been to lash out but she had the Suit, she was protected by enough armour to stop a bullet and reinforced rigging that could lift a man like he was nothing. What did they have? Tattered shirts and a sticky tape pistols and the dignity and strength to face death with more conviction than she ever could. She felt ashamed.

When he looked back into her face she knew all he’d see would be her metal flesh. She remembered that her eyes had been blue once; so light and so clear as to almost be grey, expressive and big and considered beautiful... but with the visor covering them they were now just as black as his were. In the Suit her face was no more human than theirs.

She sighed, then lowered her rifle.

“You are not a threat.”

“No.” he replied with the firm assurance of a man who knew his own qualities better than she could ever hope to.

It appeared the criteria for what constituted a human had changed when the world did.

“... I apologise.”

He gave her a wan smile, shrugging his shoulders with the tired acquiescence of someone who was used to being threatened and pulled himself back up.

“Apology accepted.”

***

When the merchants had recovered from the _altercation_ earlier in the street they had found themselves down to only one guard protecting two merchants and as far into their journey as they would have to go to retreat. They’d hemmed and hawed over their dilemma, huddled up by their (what-is-wrong-with-that) two-headed cow, planning up new routes to their destination that took them away from the more suspect areas. She’d watched them for a while, sat on the edge of a car bonnet and mulling over the things she’d learnt that morning before she grew tired of their obvious coquettishness and went over.

“I will go with you,” was all she said in her unemotional transmitted voice before returning to her seat and waiting while they hashed out their opinions with each other.

 _I’ll have to make some adjustments to the audio sensors to eavesdrop on conversations like this in future_ , she thought, _I suppose I could increase the pick-up by putting in extra microphones... but then I’d just end up hearing everything and drowning out the damn conversation- oh, maybe some sort of noise-cancellation then... but where would I even start making- hm, or what about the ability to pinpoint what area to listen to which would need some kind of detachable-_

Someone had entered her personal space (which lately was about five metres) and had trampled on her thought trail. She looked up. It was the man she’d almost attacked earlier. She assumed he was in charge of their operation.

“Alright man, how much?”

“How much what?”

“How many caps d’you want for a couple days?”

_Ah, yeah. Caps. The currency of the Commonwealth, apparently._

It wasn’t as if real money didn’t exist anymore; she’d found loads of it scavenging through the old buildings, enough to buy... well, a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk, if she was honest. Caps may well be an improvement on the economy given the state of how the current one was doing lately. Still, she’d been caught without caps before and it had ended badly, so she’d been putting them in a jar whenever she came across them. She had about a hundred caps collected from the tops of cola bottles or scattered around but when she looked at her tiny hoard it meant nothing to her, she just couldn’t reconcile that it was currency.

_I’m not a fighter and I won’t die for anyone, especially not for a bunch of bottle caps._

“I will not escort you,” she raised her hand to speak, “I will travel with you. If there is trouble I will defend you but if there is danger I will escape. Does that satisfy?”

She watched him mull it over in his head, clearly not having expected an answer like that. Perhaps it confused him that she’d refuse payment for her services being that they’d be facing the same odds whether she came along or not, or perhaps the semantics between trouble and danger weren’t important to him. It was important to her, though.

“Alright, we’ll take it. I’m Jones, and this here’s Laura and Carol, our guard,” the respective names nodded to her and she nodded back. “Who are we walkin’ with, friend?”

_Haven’t figured that one out yet. M.. Mandy... Margaret? Mildred? God, I hope not... oh sod it._

“Call me whatever.”

He was stumped again, looking at her like he couldn’t decide whether she was undercover or an asshole. She suspected at this point she could be considered both. She didn’t know these people though and there was likely no way to explain the situation that wouldn’t end with her getting terminally hazed, so she left it at that.

He recovered when he realised nothing more was forthcoming and shrugged.

 “Alright, then we’ll just... call you Suit, I guess.”

That probably wasn’t the name she’d have chosen for herself - it was getting hard enough to differentiate between the two of them as it was - still, she supposed it was as good as any other. She nodded. He brought up his hand, looking cautiously at both it and her before hesitantly holding it out for a handshake. She dwarfed his scarred hand in her armoured one as she took it gently. It looked comical but he didn’t seem to mind, breaking out into a smile as they shook on their arrangement.

“Good to have you along.”

***

They’d stayed overnight at the Rocket, giving her time to pack up her stuff and them time to rifle through her junk.

“If I am to leave, you are welcome to it,” she’d said - either they took it or the raiders would.

She packed up her fusion cores and makeshift toolkit first which already filled up most of the bag and barely left room for anything else, and managed to cram the important medical supplies, stimpacs, Rad-X and RadAway, into a small container in a side pocket. Jones had looked confused when she’d offered them some of the radiation drugs (apparently ‘their kind’ didn’t need them), but they’d gladly taken the miscellaneous meds, the red inhalers and odd little pills. After packing enough food for a few days and receiving assurances that they’d happily pack on some more for her, she only had enough room in her rucksack for a particularly finicky modification she wasn’t prepared to start over on. She couldn’t take the rest of her things but it didn’t bother her, it was all junk anyway. If she found it lying around before she could probably do so again.

Eventually it was decided that after retaking their inventory it would be too late by the time they got their (how is that alive?) two-headed cow all loaded up again and since the raiders likely wouldn’t get their wits together for a few days, the Rocket still remained the safest place to sleep.

It had been a good night. Noisy by her standards, but there was something undeniably comfortable about listening to muted conversation as lateness closed in and the sky grew dark. Their presence was a warm blanket that she wrapped around herself as they sat around the firebox in the grubby station dining area for dinner. She hadn’t yet figured out how she was going to eat without taking the helmet off so she refrained, but sat at a small distance with them all the same.

They conversed. _They_ did. She still wasn’t comfortable speaking though she did interject on occasion with the odd superficial question, most of which were met with odd stares and slow answers that drew out longer the more they realised she didn’t know. Apparently they came from further up north, from a place called The Slog that grew tarberries in an old swimming pool and there were others of ‘their kind’ there; Ghouls, they called themselves (not zombies) and they all worked together to prove to the world that their face had nothing to do with how tasty fruit was, or something. She didn’t know what tarberries actually were but it all sounded very nice and she wished them the best, saying as much. They had curiously offered her some then and she took them gratefully, secreting the purple berries away for later.

Eventually the topic turned to the question on everyone’s minds. She’d been expecting it but was still in no way prepared to answer it.

“So what’s your story, Suit?”

It was nice to have a name, she was sure she’d taken it for granted before. Unfortunately the reason she didn’t have a name was the same as why she didn’t have a story. She’d been considering whether to lie but the idea was so distasteful that she hadn’t even bothered thinking something up. A lie had a way of growing bigger and bigger over time, every retelling an opportunity for failure, and she was frightened that without any truth to fall back on, hers would swallow the life that she’d forgotten.

“I have no story.”

”C’mon, guy like you? Fallin’ out of the sky and runnin’ off a bunch of raiders?” Jones had tried again with an exhaustible patience, “You’re new here or we’d have heard about you before. Where’d you come from?”

“I have. No. Story.” she repeated firmly on the sore subject.

The group had gone silent.

 _Man, I am terrible at conversations now,_ she watched them watching her, apprehensive looks thrown subtly at each other. _Maybe I should paint a smiley face on this helmet or something._ She snorted acerbically, although they couldn’t hear it, and she remained the awkward silent elephant in the room until the moment eventually passed and everyone returned to their former spirits.

It was nice. That night she went to bed, eating alone in her room before securing her helmet back in place and settling onto the floor for the night. The tarberry had been sweeter than she’d expected and tasted better than any stale box cake ever could. She’d gone to sleep with that taste on her tongue and for the first time in weeks she didn’t hear the accusing voices when she closed her eyes.

***

When they’d set off that morning she’d felt refreshed and alert, but now the Commonwealth was turning out to be exactly as terrible as she’d previously imagined, if not somehow even worse.

Everything here was bad in insane ways that no one would ever bother thinking of. _Fuck_ , she couldn’t even deal with the normal insects but the ones here were excessive. Normal insects were tiny stompable things with needle legs all scrunched up into their nightmarish little bodies. It was the littleness that had always done it for her, she couldn’t make sense of such a small skittering frame with joints and legs going god knows where in a terrifying nonsensical fashion. Commonwealth bugs were instead huge _kickable_ things with _knife_ legs all scrunched up into their nightmarish giant bodies and that was really not better (also when you stomped normal bugs they didn’t splatter all over your ankles).  There were long, sharp ones that stabbed and then _shot your own blood at you_ , which was actually merciful considering what the chubby ones threw out, also giant moles as big as a husky that burst through the ground and tried to eat your feet and then the deer, everything here had two heads! Except the dogs... which had no skin?

She was lucky to be discovering all this now and from inside her suit though. If she’d have come across any of this shit in the woods she’d have taken that pistol and blown her own brains out right there - no doubts. As it stood, watching the horror show that was now her life through the helmet visor was much the same as watching it on a television; even the sound, though clear, came through a secondary source and felt like it was part of some faraway motion picture, and every knock on her suit was just that – disconnected. It was doing wonders for her sanity.

 _Not enough,_ said the ghosts.

 _I’m sorry,_ she replied automatically.

Travelling with experience helped too. Watching her companions and gauging their reactions to each new terror showed her when to panic and when to remain (relatively) calm, which was why seeing the guard tense up and clutch at her weapon as they turned a corner in the city was absolutely not a good sign...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally meeting everyone's favourite character in the next chapter! Also some POV changes, not that it wasn't complicated enough already.  
> I have changed the tags on this to better reflect that Suit's gone batshit so you probably shouldn't take her inner dialogue seriously.
> 
> Thank you for reading, you guys are the wind beneath my wings. <3


	10. Chapter Ten

 

Suit was true to her word in that she fought alongside them as if she were earning a wage. They navigated the streets without further injury though they were set upon several times - mostly animals, which she had no great moral issues putting down, and a couple of raiders which her company dealt with. They’d noticed she wouldn’t willingly kill and although they found it odd none of them ever brought it up. She could disable a human easily enough (made possible by the television-like HUD and the cheery music she constantly sang along to in her helmet), but when the moment to step up actually came her body would lock tight, a cold burn spreading across her back and round her throat and squeezing tightly until she might break like the raider back in Cambridge. One of her companions would then silently put in a bullet and the moment would pass, and no one would speak of it.

Carol, being the guard and the self-appointed mother of their little band of ducklings, had taken it upon herself to act as tour guide, pointing out notable landmarks, directions to avoid and signs of looming danger. Carol loved to talk and was happy to do most of the work in the conversation, which made the trip considerably less awkward than it otherwise would have been given Suit’s penchant for silence or terse replies. She was a treasure trove of useful tips and tricks for navigating the commonwealth and Suit had learned much from their short trip together; she learnt how to pack more into her rucksack, how to pile wood correctly on a campfire, which plants were worth collecting, and what things were edible (apparently everything). She also learnt how to spot landmines (but not why people were leaving the damn things lying around everywhere and then vanishing to begin with), and even theorised some possible modifications she could put in her armour later. 

The further they got into the city of Boston, the more on edge everyone in the caravan seemed to grow. Even Carol became less chatty and more alert, scanning every window and doorway as they stepped warily through the rubble, often forcing them to stop while she went ahead to assess the path forward.

Suit would have expected the group to calm down the closer they got to their destination but the opposite appeared to be happening. Every little sign or sound suddenly became like an omen of imminent death and though she couldn’t say the giant bugs and skinless dogs were an enjoyable occurrence, they weren’t really worth the diligence the group was putting in. She wanted to ask if they were looking for something in particular, but her heavy footsteps were probably already taking up the majority of their frayed patience and she didn’t want to push her luck. A small part of her was also enjoying the Stoic Stranger routine anyway – and one really had to take entertainment where one found it these days.

When they came upon the first definitive signs of danger, Carol, already aware of Suit’s utter cluelessness, stopped her before she could step forward and investigate the oddest, foulest god-damn thing – hanging chain sacks of meat blooming wild from a garden of great metal thorns.

Eyes narrowed, she leaned forward on the spot, mind barely processing the puddle of red below it.

“What’s in them?”

“Hopefully nobody I know,” Carol replied morosely as she crept off to scout, and the visor covered the look of abject horror on Suit’s face.

It must have shown in the tension of her shoulders though, the way she clutched her hands in fists to her chest, shock visible even through her cage of metal. She now lived in a world where people were turned to meat and left to drip away. Jones took up Carol’s place by her side, a reassuring tap on her bracer to distract her from the rising fear. It was enough to halt her progression into hysteria and she was, not for the first time, reassured and grateful that she had left her workshop with these people. They may have looked like corpses but their gentle patience was so at odds with their appearance that she felt as though she ought to be offering _them_ a wage.

“They like to hole up here because the caravans have to pass through an’ it’s easy pickings,” Jones explained in a calming whisper. ”It’s a good forward base for a vanguard before an attack on the town. Goodneighbor usually takes care of ‘em, so these must be recent arrivals.”

Carol came back round the corner not long after, shaking her head.

“Couldn’t see any, looks like they’re probably on the upper levels. If we’re quiet we might be able to get by. Keep your weapons free anyway.”

Jones and Laura readied their pipe pistols and took up position by their (do-they-ever-fight?) two-headed cow. Little Laura patted its side reassuringly, their tense attitude having set the thing on edge.

 “Suit, up front with me. If anything pops out you grab its attention – you’re the only one that doesn’t have to worry about bullets.”

Suit did as commanded, standing by the corner as the woman huddled up with her merchant companions to explain minutia that only really applied to them. It was a little thrilling; perhaps she should have been more afraid, and she certainly would have been before, but the caravan had treated her very well thus far and she sincerely doubted that they’d use her as an escape plan.

_Right? Right._

As they double-checked the bindings on their junk in case they needed to dash, Suit scanned the street ahead for life signatures. The range on her sensors wasn’t that far, even less so when there were walls in the way. Here in the heart of the city the buildings were more compact than back in Cambridge and picking up any readings from inside was nearly impossible, and though there were holes in the broken bones her position was such that she couldn’t see inside. Added to that, the mountain of rubble piled as high as the first storeys put their group in something of a blind spot, which was probably how the thing got as close as it did before her scanners picked it up.

 “Carol. What is that?”

They always seemed a little shocked on the rare occasions when she addressed them first and Carol turned around curiously to attend to her, the ghoul’s eyes immediately locking onto the huge green mass that glowered at them from not far behind her. Suit looked at the creature with a faraway detached interest as in slow motion, it released its jaw, its mouth opening impossibly wide and its jagged teeth so long that a part of her couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. All three of her companions seemed to realise what it was at the same time, a level of terror she hadn’t previously expected etched onto their faces as they flinched back in unison.

None of them managed to answer her question before the beast let forth a bray so loud and unearthly that it rang in her helmet like a quake, drowning out everything else.

***

_Shit- shit- shit- shit!_

Suit ran, though in power armour that felt like wading through water. Every muscle in her body strained forward trying to break through the limits of her metal shell, but it wasn’t built for speed. Constantly wearing it had so far helped build up her endurance for piloting the thing but as she stomped up the last few steps she could already feel her breath growing ragged.

The merchants had broken off from them, using the pair as a distraction to slip by and make for the settlement where they could alert the guards to the threat so close to town and get help. Orcs were utterly monstrous things, on the same reality-twisting scale as zombies, huge and green and _so angry_ that it was easy enough to separate their existence from her own, to block out their vaguely human shape and stilted speech and just want to _tear_ – but they were strong, too, and outnumbered her, and after taking a nailboard to the face plate she knew she couldn’t weather this storm and she and the guard had been forced to try a new tactic.

Panic and run the fuck away.

Urging Carol on ahead of her the pair rushed over to the other end of the room, careful of damage in the flooring that opened up sheer drops to the ground down below but too spiked on adrenaline to be properly concerned. They peered over the edge of the balcony down to the second level. Behind them the mutants bounded up the stairs like angry attack dogs, green faces snarling and spitting in pursuit as they made to cross the floor. A quick pat on the shoulder was all the explanation Carol needed from her and the woman quickly scrambled over the railing, gripping Suit’s hand in both her own and holding on until she was lowered enough to jump down.

_I gotta get out of here..._

But she wasn’t fast enough and they wouldn’t stop chasing her, not without some sort of distraction... She stared down at Carol who had backed away from landing and was now looking up expectantly at her, waiting for her to jump down as well.

_And what then?_

They keep running and drag the monsters right back to the caravan? And Carol... she didn’t have armour whilst they had far too many bullets, and though Suit had protection she couldn’t keep up with Carol for distance. If they were going to make it they needed a head start. They needed a distraction...

Suit groaned inside her helmet as Carol held her hands up questioningly, the memory of her terms of travelling with the group rattling around her helmet as she turned and she left, pushing away from the balcony and storming across the room drawing the mutants after her. Her bravado managed to carry her across the room before she realised she was in twice the bad situation and still had no plan for getting out of it.

_That was pretty noble. Less so when I get my insides handed to me, but still._

Two mutants broke off chase to get into firing position, swinging up their pistols and taking aim at her. The third one that surged forward was a brawler, and though his wooden plank didn’t look that threatening she’d already felt just how dangerous it could be. He brought his board up as he stepped into her space and though she wanted to shield herself from the blow, some instinct bid her bring her arms up under his instead. She braced for the impact of his board as it connected with her shoulder, the sharp vibration ringing down along her arm painfully, and at the same time pushed forward to swing him round into the path of bullets the other two mutants had now started firing on her. In that moment her heart rate spiked, because _that was totally amazing,_ and then she shoved him forward where he toppled over the edge of the broken flooring, his body dropping down to the lower floor with a loud crash.

_One down. Two to go!_

She ducked around a support column and waited for her next target to appear, and as he charged after her she socked him in the jaw with the full force of her gauntlet, his jaw breaking with a disgusting crunch and the hammer of his teeth cutting through his own tongue in mid-roar. He went sideways, hitting the floor hard and rolling away from her; not quite through the floor but close enough to the edge for Carol to get a few good final shots in from where she’d taken place below. Suit watched the blood run down across his neck and torso, the broken tombstones of his teeth chattering grossly as he groaned his last, and wondered why it didn’t hurt to hit these things when it did with humans.

_Two down. One to go._

Humming a breathless tune in her helmet, she spun round and stormed towards the last mutant purposefully. He raised his shoddy rifle at her chest but got out a few tapping shots on her breastplate before she’d closed the distance between them, her chest plate slamming against his bare chest and pushing him backwards as she kept walking. It took seconds to realise what was happening and before he could do anything about it, she’d gripped him hard in his shoulders, bulldozed him to the hole and followed her momentum over the edge with him. He landed badly. She landed with her feet on his chest. Her armour took no damage. 

 “Carol?”

As the dust cleared she glanced around the room for Carol, finding the woman unharmed but on her ass, thrown over in the quake, a complex expression on her face.

“We are done here.”

Carol drew in a heavy breath, dusting off her cap and replacing it on her hairless head before she clambered up to her feet, dusted herself off, and nodded.

***

For the first time since waking in the forest, Suit found herself in some semblance of civilisation, though she was far too tired from adrenaline and exhaustion to give it more than a cursory glance. The pair headed straight for the forefront of what constituted a town where a group had gathered, Jones and Laura among them. She had been led to expect a rescue party, and her vexation at finding it was an unrelated altercation felt bitter in her stomach. In the middle of the spectators, a pirate and a biker faced off against one another, apparently for Laura’s benefit. Good for her, but hardly the fucking time. One look on Jones’ face as he approached them, much pleased at their unexpected arrival but also distracted by what was clearly a tense scene, warned her from announcing her grievance as he took up place by their side, checking them briefly for injuries and clapping them both silently on the back.

Detached from the (do-you-feed-them-both) two-headed cow that had been taken away by a worker, Laura looked like any other stray coming to Goodneighbor for refuge, just-grown, cowering and waifish without her companions to rely on... easy pickings. Bad experiences with humans had left the girl vulnerable outside The Slog, and that fear was etched plainly across her features as the hefty bulk of a man loomed over the proceedings, his face the sneering portrayal of a comic book villain that fell only briefly when the massive suit of power armour waggled its fingers at Laura to call her over by its side.

The girl didn’t speak or explain, only came over and huddled in the shadow of the tank, trying to vanish out of the situation entirely. Now that the band was back together, they focused their attention on the scene before them.

The Biker was apparently a dick. He had said something to Laura which was Not Nice, and Laura had probably almost died from anxiety... so she guessed. He was now being called out on it by the man who was absolutely the coolest thing Suit could ever remember seeing (which granted, wasn’t much). He seemed to well know it, too. This Pirate-slash-Zombie-King had a voice like silk over barbed wire and though whatever he said sounded like a cheap pick-up line, he still managed to use it to command attention. The small crowd had given him a stage, backing off to a safe distance though milling around with interest. No one seemed alarmed and it occurred to Suit that they’d probably seen it happen before. Every eye appeared to be on him now, waiting to see where the adventure would go this time.

Straight to Hell, oddly.

“You keep talkin’ like that and someday there’ll be a new mayor.”

Mayor? Well that sounded dangerously like a coup, which generally was serious business. The amicable mayor seemed to take it all in his stride though, laughing off the threat and offering his hand. He seemed like a pretty easy-going sort of guy. But mayor?  _Really?_

“Let me tell you something...”

When the blade sunk deep with a sound like wrenching meat Suit’s hands automatically went to her stomach, metal gauntlets clinking on her armour.

_What the fu-_

She outwardly cringed when it bit a second time and Biker slumped to the floor, hands ineffectively shuffling through pain for his stomach, trying to stop the blood that poured over his fingers. Whatever had happened probably hadn’t warranted an execution and she lurched forward against Jones’ hand, stopping when he didn’t move aside and looking round to the crowd.

No one was moving.

“Jones?” she tried to whisper to Jones and failed, her voice breaking through the stunned silence, “Jones. That cosplayer just murdered someone.”

Jones’ look was first startled and then exasperated, though she couldn’t tell if that was for her or the mayor. He shook his head, pinching his nose with gnarled fingers.

“Suit, this is Mayor Hancock. He runs this town.”

That apparently seemed to be all the information that was forthcoming in regards to _the_   _murder_ that just happened.

 _Of course it's the mayor. Why not? A costumed corpse is as good as anything else in this world._  

Suit looked down at the man seeping onto the sidewalk, knowing that a stomach wound was a long, pathetic and painful way to die. She looked back up to the mayor who was watching her with amused interest. He looked like a fucking pirate. Any other time and she’d have been delighted, but no one else seemed to be registering the low groan coming from the man formerly known as Finn. Hancock was dangerous. The easy-going guy she’d seen before now more akin to a sleeping predator. Though his knife wouldn’t pierce through her armour, he could probably think up several ways to skin a metal cat.

“Well...” she said, fighting down terror and ice to keep her words steady and to stop the hysterical laughter bubbling through, “You certainly have _my_ vote.”

And Hancock, momentarily stunned, barked out his approval with laughter.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

 

Guards were soon called to remove Finn so he could die somewhere more convenient, and those spectators that had stayed to watch the proceedings drifted away now the show was over. Carol and Jones gave each other a run-down of the last hour, then the guardswoman left for the common room reserved for trading caravans. Jones remained to oversee their goods now arriving in the square and was comfortable leaving a shaken Laura with Suit after realising the two got on well as neither ever really spoke to anyone.

Hancock stayed, he and his personal guard completely at ease even under the intense scrutiny Suit had been trying (and failing) to subtly cast his way since the Finncident.

“Hey, man. Sorry about Finn an’ all,” he said quietly, helping Jones carry crates of tarberries into the general store. “Been meanin’ to put him down for a while now, I just had... other things to do.”

“No harm done, John. You stopped it before it went too far.”

They set the crates down on the edge of the counter as the shop-keep, a cordial ghoulette with a full head of hair, rifled through some of the other miscellaneous junk the caravan had brought with them. The selection was a little more advanced than their usual haul, thanks to Suit’s donations, and several items of old world value had caught the woman’s keen eyes. They left her appraising the value and Jones would return tomorrow to discuss payment on their inventory as was their usual arrangement.

Outside the shop, they both watched as a large metal hand patted Laura’s head, causing the young woman to smile shyly and also shrink a couple of inches.

“So, what’s with the tin can?”

Jones gave him a complicated look, and then shrugged his shoulders.

“Hell if I know. Got pinned by the raiders back in Cambridge, thought we were done for, lost one of our guards... then this behemoth lands out of the sky and starts plowin’ into anything with a weapon.”

Hancock whistled appreciatively.

“Now _that_ sounds like a good time all round. So you hired him?”

“Tried to,” he went on, seeing Hancock’s confused expression, “he refused payment.”

“No shit?”

“We didn’t even get to discussing caps. He just announced he was coming along.”

“And you couldn’t exactly say no to the giant...”

“Nah, it ain’t like that. I think he’s just... testing himself. Getting acquainted with the Commonwealth. He’s clearly not from around here, the kid doesn’t know his own ass from a radstag. The amount of shit we had to explain, it’s no wonder he’s locked himself in the suit.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean he never gets out of it. Ever.”

“ _Never?_ ”

“Won’t even take the helmet off if anyone’s around. When I asked his name he just said, _‘Call me whatever,’_ so... we call him Suit.”

Hancock shook his head, furrowing his brow as if trying to work out a complex puzzle.

 “He didn’t know what a ghoul was.”

“Lotsa Smoothskins don’t.“

“Didn’t know what a super mutant was.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t think he knows what a brahmin is...”

“Okay, now _that’s_ unusual.”

Jones nodded. “So we can rule out some isolationist farming commune.”

“Which really only leaves... vault dweller.”

They both exchanged a glance, equal parts indignation and resignation.

“Christ, Jones. What’d you pick up?”

Jones sighed and leaned back against the wall of the general store, pulling off his flat cap and running a hand over his scarred scalp. When he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Hancock, the mayor joined him against the wall. Jones pulled out a tarnished flip lighter and lit both their cigarettes, and for a moment they were silent as they watched Suit follow Laura into town. When the two were out of sight, Jones broke the silence.

“Look, the kid’s not bad. Just... just keep an eye on him, okay?”

Hancock arched what had once been his eyebrows, cigarette hanging loosely between his teeth.

“What, you dumping him off on me?” he asked wryly, but the pause that followed was not encouraging.

“The kid’s useful, Hancock, real useful. Knows his way around electronics, even repaired a few of our things on the way here...”

Hancock narrowed his eyes.

“And you’re giving him me because...?”

“I’ll be honest,” Jones flicked his cigarette with a heavy sigh, his focus pointedly on the burning embers rather than Hancock’s stare. “The kid’s green. The things he needs to learn he won’t find at The Slog... and I don’t have time to teach him anyway.”

“But I do?” His voice took on a hard edge, irritation etched in the ridges of his face at the idea that _picking berries_ was somehow more time-consuming than running an entire town - that he had time to babysit a vault dweller while they figured out which end of a knife was the sharp bit.

“Just put him to work somewhere, repairs or something.”

“Jones...”

“He gave us some salvage. Just... gave it us. Chems too, and weapons.  It’ll go a ways to cover him being here. You put him to work and I’m betting he’ll more than pay for himself in the long run.”

The earnest look on Jones’ face was enough to tell Hancock he wasn’t going to cave on this. Hell, it _would_ be nice to have an extra pair of competent hands around, and if the kid could fight super mutants, all the better... still, a walking tank wasn’t something you could just hide in a corner. He was going to stick out, though in what way remained to be seen.

“I’ll think about it. Let me talk to the guy first before I promise anything.”

Relief flooded across Jones’ face and he gave Hancock a weak smile now the weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“But only ‘cause you asked so nicely... and because I owe you a favour.”

Jones was silent at this, and both men stared out into the dimming twilight. Eventually he clapped Hancock on the shoulder.

“You’ve come a long way since the kid from Diamond City, John.”

“...but not far enough.”

***

That evening had Suit wandering around after Laura like a lost lamb. Unfortunately Laura was no leader either, and somehow the pair ended up following each other around in useless silent circuits around the main streets. Carol had joined them later after she’d noticed them passing the bunkhouse for the third time, giving them a list of the best places to check out while they were in town. Suit was too overwhelmed by the number of people milling around to really absorb the information, though she could explore tomorrow when the shock of rejoining what was left of civilisation had worn off. Eventually the two women bid her goodnight, offering her a sleeping bag in their room should she need it. She thanked them politely, but held no inclination to accept the offer, instead wandering off in search of a stiff drink.

The bouncer at the Third Rail had said Hancock welcomed newcomers to the bar, but that she wasn’t allowed entry while still decked in power armour - something about ‘unfair odds’. She hired a street urchin for the costly price of any change and a box of expired snack cakes to go into the bar and purchase for her a bottle of bourbon or whiskey, assuming he was least likely to run off with her caps, and that anyone who let a child run around with holes in their shoes wasn’t opposed to selling them hard liquor. It was ten minutes of waiting in the nearby alley, tinkering with a broken actuator and wondering if she’d miscalculated, before she heard footsteps rounding the corner and slid off the dumpster to make the trade.

When Hancock stopped at the mouth of the alley with a bottle in one hand, she went rigid in her suit.

The last thing her already-shot nerves needed was to be trapped in an alley with Mayor Stabhappy. She carefully slid her work back into the ordinance packs strapped around her suit thigh, awkwardly tilting her suit forward – the closest thing she could perform to a nod in such unyielding attire.

If he noticed her trepidation he made no sign of it, giving her an easy grin as he held up her whiskey, sloshing the bottle to announce its contents. It did little to settle her nerves - she’d already seen him stick someone with a smile. Still, unpredictable didn’t necessarily mean dangerous.

“Mister Mayor,” the Suit’s audio distortion gave the title formal weight, more than it probably usually held and she thought he looked quite pleased as she used it, “Where’s the urchin?”

“Inside,” he snorted, “getting a proper meal.”

He stepped further into the alley, purposely setting his steps as if approaching a wild animal, and calmly held out her liquor. She was still for a moment, before she reached out slowly, her metal fingers clinking against the bottle as she took it ever-so-gently from him. A smile lit up his face at this minor victory and she was momentarily struck by how expressive he was for a reanimated corpse. It was... not grotesque.

“Thank you.” She nodded politely and made to take her leave.

“Now hold up there friend... I was told there’d be cake.”

That got an unexpected chuckle out of her, and for a moment she was startled that the noise came from her. She suddenly realised that since waking up she couldn’t recollect a single other moment in which she’d laughed. She handed over the old box of cakes, ashamed to be caught bartering with such shoddy goods though he didn’t even seem to notice, and waited impatiently, hoping for him to excuse her. Barring him knifing a guy in the street Hancock seemed amiable, but while she’d become accustomed to the idea of ‘ghouls’, this one in particular she hadn’t come to terms with yet.

Instead of her dismissal, however, she heard the tell-tale rustle of packaging.

Suit sighed, weariness and impatience fogging up her visor as he began to methodically open up the box of snack cakes, and agonisingly, purposely slowly, unwrap one. She was too polite to leave the mayor until their discourse was concluded, but she also couldn’t drink with her helmet on and Hancock had obviously worked that out too. The smile he wore was a little too clever for his own good.   _Damn it..._ She looked down at her bottle sadly before turning her attention back to where he was watching her with interest. She remembered the sound of slick belly meat as the knife went in, and shuddered.

She’d half expected this; he probably only came to gauge her intentions. In a world where someone would kill your entire caravan for a crate of berries and a wonky desk fan it paid to keep on top of strangers, but when night had fallen without once running into him again, she’d hoped he’d chosen to leave it until morning.

“So,” he opened the interrogation, “any particular reason you can’t get your own booze?”

He already knew the answer to his question, though he seemed to be gleaning entertainment from digging in with it all the same, casually offering her a cake. His sly smile only grew when she ignored it. It seemed a waste of time and words to play along with him but Suit was too much of an outsider to risk the wrath her simply leaving might bring. She tapped her chest plate.

“Dress code.”

He chuckled at that, a warm sound so rare now amidst the gunfire and blood. It almost made her want to like him, or at least hear it again.

“Yeah, sorry brother. I tend to frown on gunfights in my saloon, and right now? _You_ are a weapon.”

She nodded, conceding his point.

“I’m curious though... what’s with the suit, Suit?”

She stared at him, fighting down the urge to flick at his quirky hat with a metal finger. She stared at his waistcoat and frock coat and ruffled shirt, stared at his American flag sash drily, and then when her eyes caught the switchblade tucked at his waist her head snapped up to his face again. She said nothing, but the minute movements of her helmet had indicated her train of thought. Hancock shrugged, unperturbed.

“Alright, fair point... ” He paused, as if to find the words he needed. “Just so you know, you don’t need to go round in full metal plate here. This is Goodneighbor, friend! Of the people, for the people.”

“You killed a man for backtalk.”

Her main grievance came tumbling out before she could stop it, and Hancock’s jaw snapped shut, his expression turning sharp. It wasn’t guilt she saw flash across his face, but some subtle, complicated emotion that she didn’t quite catch.

“Hey, this is my town, and it’s _my_ job to keep the peace. Now I’ll be the first to admit I’m not proud of everything I’ve ever done, but I didn’t kill Finn on a whim. I’m no dictator here.”

Suit had doubts about that, but knew better than to argue with him. It wasn’t her place, wasn’t her home. Wasn’t even her _world_. She hadn’t meant to say it in the first place. When she didn’t reply, he seemed to take her silence for disapproval, or perhaps his defence was spoken for his own benefit. A coldness seeped into his words, barely noticeable save that she was already wary around him.

“I killed Finn because that kinda trouble doesn’t fly in my town, you dig?”

She nodded tersely, submissively, wishing this conversation would end.

“Like I said, Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people...” His words took on a hard edge. “ _So long as you remember who’s in charge._ ”

“Understood.”

She gave another jerking, half-body nod and Hancock took his leave without further comment.

***

As the stars glittered overhead, Suit took up residence on the rooftop of one of the old warehouses across from the state house, having ambled carefully along the old roofs from a fire escape halfway across the south side of town. She settled between a couple of vent shafts where she wouldn’t be spotted and after checking and triple-checking she was out of sight, unlocked and took off her helmet. Having the helmet on for so long without an opportunity to air herself out had left her a sticky, sweaty mess. While the newer models had integrated support for long-term usage, it didn’t stop them from being ridiculously hot without some specialised adjustments. She peeled the long tangled ponytail of her black sweat-dampened hair out the back of her armour, leaning forward and panting in the cool night, gulping down fresh air greedily and sighing as it cooled the moisture on her neck.

When she’d finally had her fill and could feel her body temperature beginning to adjust to more comfortable levels, Suit leaned heavily back against one of the vents, opening her whiskey and taking a swig. It tasted like acid; burnt like acid, too, but she’d already realised this back in Cambridge. The benefits outweighed the taste, though only if she was careful about her intake. Too much alcohol and she’d break down into a shaking, sobbing wreck - but too little and she’d be sober (which was practically the same result). The trick was in the pacing. Drink only to dull the pain, rather than to block it out entirely.

She put the cap back on between sips and tilted her head back to look up at the night sky, shimmering stars like diamond dust glittering over a broken cityscape. It was breathtaking. She was mostly unfamiliar with the southern constellations but that didn’t diminish their natural, uneducated beauty in any way. The loss of electricity (and life (( _and sanity))_ had cleared the air pollution. Where once smog and spotlights and billboards would have obscured this magnificent view, now at the end of the world, this celestial background shone in all its glory. There was poetry in that. Whatever cataclysmic event had toppled humanity, the universe still went on. It always would. However small and weak you felt, one look at the night sky reminded you that you were even more insignificant than that. In the grand scheme of the natural world, you were nothing. Zombies, orcs... _murderous mayors..._ all nothing.

She stayed like that for a while, tracing points of light across the impenetrable abyss and listening to the sounds of revelry and life rising up from the streets below. Eventually, when the bottle was half empty, she fixed her helmet back on and settled down to sleep on the roof, knowing that her sensors would wake her if anything living approached.

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

 

That morning, Suit woke up with the light grey sky stretching out far above her head and the whispers in her mind slowly fading into silence. Heavy clouds loomed on the horizon in every direction, a portent of oncoming rain that would probably hit sometime in the afternoon. She removed her helmet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and rinsing out her dry mouth with a can of purified water, splashing some on her face to chase away the last of her forgotten dreams. After breaking her fast on an old chocolate ration bar she replaced her helmet, locking it into place before retracing her steps back over the rooftops and making her way back down to street level.

It was mid-morning and Suit wasn’t a particularly early riser so by the time she slowly walked back to the market street her travelling companions were already up and about, parcelling out goods and bartering on prices and trades. At the sound of her heavy footfalls they turned to greet her, Laura offering her a bottle of Nuka Cola which she pocketed, before Jones beckoned her over for a chat.

“So you’re finally up, huh?”

Suit nodded, her eyes wandering over their assortment of goods, discovering several new additions they’d presumably traded for to take back with them. He was watching her out the corner of his eye, and when she turned back to him he gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Trading’s good work. It’s not always as dangerous as Cambridge.”

She nodded again.

“You ever think about taking it up?”

“Trading?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” He huffed, shaking his head at her quick rejection. “So what _is_ your trade?”

 _My trade?_ She ran her metal fingers along the junk items laid out on a crate. When they came to a circuit board, she stopped, picking it up gently between her thumb and index finger and looking at the model number stamped on one side. Her mind automatically thought of places she could put it; things she could use it for.

“I...” _think... “_ I make things.”

He seemed pleased by her admission, nodding sagely as if he already knew that, in much the way that old people behaved as if they knew everything.

“Yeah? You like to tinker, don’t you? What sort of things do you make?”

She put down the circuit board and shrugged her shoulders, metal plates clanking together. Jones hummed thoughtfully.

“What about turrets? Know anything about turrets?”

_A turret? How would I make a turret? I’d need scrap for that... maybe an assault rifle- ooh! A mounted minigun? I could open it up and feed rounds through, bang on an old security camera, hook the thing up to an old terminal... I suppose I could make a copy of the software I use for tracking targets through Suit... Wait, do I even want to build someone a turret..._

She was halfway through trying to catalogue new ways to identify targets and trying to find the moral line between offence and defence when Jones tapped her on the bracer, snapping her out of her internal debate.

 “One of the turrets on the outer wall is on the fritz. The town needs those in case the super mutants attack. I was thinkin’ you could maybe take a look at it?”

It would be a good opportunity to learn, and the basic mechanisms underneath all the different tech was generally the same. It wouldn’t be that difficult. Suit nodded, much to Jones’ relief. He must have been extremely concerned about that turret because he wasted no time packing her off to the wall with a grin on his face, instructing her to speak to the guard on duty that would show her which turret was in need of repairs.

That afternoon, when Hancock finally stepped out through the doors of the old statehouse into the drizzle of rain, he saw Kleo and Suit huddled over a disassembled turret on the assaultron’s shop floor, gesturing wickedly at a missile launcher.

***

Though the drizzle grew heavier, the afternoon’s rain didn’t seem to affect the town. While some people did retreat to cover, the working and the homeless had no choice but to ignore it, and as such the streets were relatively busy despite the downpour. Suit had eventually been dragged away from Kleo and her shop, presumably to stop them finalising their plans for a turret-turned-doomsday device, and Jones insisted Suit accompany Laura as they made a few deliveries. She had agreed because it was a good excuse to explore the town and neither were in danger of holding a conversation, and because she was less likely to get lost than on her own - her sense of direction being what it was (crap).

They spent the afternoon ferrying packages around town, Suit doing the lifting and Laura doing the talking. She performed about as well as could be expected, but the presence of a hulking set of power armour dissuaded anyone from being anything but polite and accommodating. They finished in good time and Suit declined Laura’s offer to join the merchants for dinner, instead choosing to get a couple of extra hours in on her turret plans before she got hungry and retreated to the middle rooftops for more ration bars and privacy.

When evening closed in and the sky grew dark, the streets of Goodneighbor became illuminated with strings of lights that hung from building-to-building over the walkways below. Those residents whose jobs had ended for the day now found time to unwind, and people took to the streets in search of entertainment, the town coming to life with loud voices and the music from a dozen radios in a dozen windows. For a complete slum, it was quite charming. Suit watched the proceedings from above. Without the fear of falling and breaking her neck, high places had become comforting and being not much over five-feet-short, she considered it nice to be up higher than everyone else for a change. She had perched herself on the ledge of a roof overlooking the street, her legs hanging over the edge as she sang along to the tunes that filtered through the audio receptors on her suit.

_Ain’t civilisation grand?_

Being in civilisation again was an exhaustive experience - both enjoyable and also unsettling. It was good to know that places such as this still existed; hubs of activity and community, where (something like) money exchanged hands in regards to services and produce. It was good to know that not everybody was a road-side killer who simply took what they wanted.

_It’s not right, though..._

As comforting as it was compared to the ghost town under the broken overpass, it still wasn’t right. The radios only played a handful of different tracks, everything was built from scrap, so many people openly carried weapons, and everything and everyone was covered in grime. Looking below, she watched as a group of men walked by, talking loudly and gesturing, glad to be done with work. The scene was not unusual and though she could not remember, she knew she’d seen something like it before, but now... like an echo or a memory, it wasn’t _the_ _real thing_. Even the colours were off, faded and brown and...

For a moment, she was dangerously close to playing the _What Happened?_ game again, and was only saved from another night of repressed terrors by a sudden noise which snapped her out of her thoughts. Turning her attention to the intrusion, she listened for anything out of place in the voices and music below. Seconds passed and she was about to go back to relaxing when she heard it again. It sounded like a _clunk_ , and she leaned forward in time to notice a small stone bouncing off her armoured leg. Perplexed, she looked down past her feet to the street below.

_Mayor Hancock?_

There he stood with that fixed cheshire grin, looking up at her. She narrowed her eyes on impulse, for he had no reason to seek her out, but her mood was immediately softened by the bottle he held up for display. He’d brought her booze again. It was oddly touching.

She raised a hand and waved down at him and he beckoned her down with a tilt of his head. Shooing him back she clambered to her feet, and once he was a safe distance away, she stepped off the roof to land on the already-fragmented ground, a cloud of dust kicking up on impact but soon dissipating. The mayor whistled, sauntering back over with his free hand in his pocket, the cold expression from their last conversation nowhere to be seen.

“That looks like fun.”

“Mister Mayor,” she nodded.

Again, he looked pleased by the address, but his congenial smile soon fell away to something more hesitant. His brow furrowed, and he shuffled his hand in his pocket uncomfortably. She said nothing, but waited patiently until he had found the words for what he wanted to say.

“Look, I’ve been thinking we got off to a bad start. I didn’t exactly make the best first impression with that whole business with Finn.”

Suit watched him through her visor, like a visitor at the zoo staring at a caged wolf through the railings. It was peculiar that being trapped in power armour gave her more freedom to do as she pleased, so she stared without fear of reproach or rudeness, traced the whorls and craters of his flesh following lines from the tight set of his jaw to the consternation in his brow. Yesterday he had smiled and then killed a man. She wondered what he was capable of when he was somber.

“It had to be done.”

“Did it?” she asked.

Without missing a beat: “Yeah.”

She stared, watching for any tell-tale flicker of untruth, waiting to see if the wolf under his skin would rear its head. Hancock, to his credit, simply stared back. He looked earnest; honest. A dangerous man, but not an unreasonable one. Thinking back, Finn _had_ done something – Laura had murmured as much, and Hancock _had_ stopped it. Permanently, excessively, but maybe that was just the way the world worked now. Maybe she ought to just get used to it.

“...alright.”

He seemed taken aback. He’d apparently expected a discussion.

“...what, that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The silence then was a little awkward, and determined to try this fresh start she had been offered, she reached out, her fingers splaying for the bottle he held and he relinquished it to her then dug in his pockets for a tin of Mentats. Slipping a couple on his tongue, he held out the tin, though she obviously declined. He seemed more relaxed now.

“So, I hear you’re getting along with Kleo. She mostly scares newcomers.”

_Ah, the assaultron, a marvellous thing. I wonder if he’d let me tinker with it._

“Yes. I was allowed use of the workshop... _she_... was helpful.”

_... and bloodthirsty. Good with weapons though. RobCo designed well for battle._

“So I saw... and now we’re down a turret and up a pile of scrap.” He arched an eyebrow, and despite the power armour, she managed to look abashed.

“... It will be fixed."

Hancock shook his head, though the corner of his mouth curled up.

“If you’re staying with us, you’re gonna need to reign that in.”

Now it was Suit’s turn to be surprised. They hadn’t exactly gotten along so far, and she’d doubted that their patience for the walking tank would hold indefinitely. She had not been expecting a welcome, honestly, she hadn’t been expecting anything. The atmosphere of the Commonwealth wasn’t exactly conducive to long-term planning. She’d been taking it one day at a time.

“I... hadn’t decided.” She paused to look down at her hands, encased in metal and capable of so much. “Are you certain?”

Hancock’s smile grew, a low chuckle emanating from his chest.

“C’mon man... if you left now I’d miss our little chats.”

He placed his hand on her arm as if the armour wasn’t even there and she turned to look at it, scarred and torn, all knuckles and bones. Despite the inch of steel between them, it was... nice. Comforting. She thought back to her first days in this world, to the raiders at the roadside with their sharp teeth and hungry eyes, and wondered how differently things would have gone had it been Hancock she first ran into. Her hands clenched as she fought the urge to cling to him, to let out everything she’d been bottling up inside, to cry, to take a tantrum until the world put itself right again.  

Instead she simply nodded, and when that felt insufficient, lifted up the bottle he had brought her questioningly.

They parked themselves on a bench and (Hancock) drank and (Hancock) talked until the late hours of the night, and at some point, around the time the bar fight that spilled out from the Hotel Rexford happened and Hancock was forced to go and deal with it, she decided that she liked him.

***

The next morning brought clear skies and good weather for travelling, and as the people of Goodneighbor woke to start their day even Suit was coaxed down from the rooftops before midday, intent on seeing the merchants before they set off for the return part of their journey.

When she made it down to the square early (by her standards) the party was already in the midst of preparations, securing the last of their return goods on their (I-want-to-poke-it) two-headed cow and checking their travelling gear for the dangerous trek back north. The trip would be longer this time, as they’d decided to skirt round Cambridge for fear of retaliation from the raiders who would now have had time to form their revenge plans. A new guard had been hired to replace their lost companion, a drifting ghoul whose name she had not bothered remembering who was grateful for the work. She wasn’t exactly a tough act to follow, but the world was so dangerous now and she hoped they all made it safely.

It was about half an hour before they’d finalised their affairs and Suit took the time to poke her (where-can-I-get-one) two-headed cow fascination out of her system before Jones clapped his hands together and announced they were about to leave. Hancock had arrived moments earlier, also intent on saying goodbye.

“Are you coming with us?” Jones asked, though it seemed he already knew the answer. Maybe old people did know everything. Suit glanced to Hancock, who gave her a friendly smile.

“No, thank you.”

The two men exchanged glances and then Jones nodded, seeming pleased with her decision.

“Well, when you get settled, you should come visit us up at the Slog sometime. See what it is we do up there.”

Suit nodded, the idea not being completely unappealing to her. Laura stood to one side looking noticeably nervous, which wasn’t unusual, but the woman held a package in her arms and looked like she wanted to say something. At Carol’s insistence and the collective stares of the entire group, she stepped forward and held it out to Suit.

“We, uh... got something for you... because, well, we noticed you never fired it...”

Suit felt oddly uncomfortable when she slowly, tentatively accepted the package from the woman. She could feel loose boxes tied into a faded old rag, and holding it in the crook of her arm, undid the string holding it together. There were five boxes of .308 bullets to fit the raider’s sniper rifle that she’d carried from Cambridge. She couldn’t account for the dampness at the corners of her eyes, thinking it a vast overreaction to receiving something so utilitarian a gift, but... these were the first _real people_ she’d met. They’d spent time together. They’d _killed things_ together. They saw her, the metal monster with no social skills and too-loud boots and who didn’t know anything... They saw that... and they still accepted her.

 “You didn’t want payment,” Jones interjected into the too-long silence, “but we figured you should have _something_... good work, kid.”

 It wasn’t the safety she’d sought coming out of the forest, but it was _safety_. She’d finally found the people willing to help her on the roadside, and they were so kind.

_I’m not going to waste this... I’m going to make this gift last my entire life._

“... Thank you.”

She wrapped the gift back up and gave the party a half-bow. Hancock and Jones shook hands, trading a few parting words and idle barbs regarding shipments before the caravan got underway, turning and marching out through the entrance. Suit watched them until they were out of sight up the road, wondering if she’d ever see them again, before Hancock tapped on her upper arm, nodding and stepping in the direction of the old statehouse.

She followed after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After extensive testing I have confirmed that Hancock should indeed be able to whistle. Mostly.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

 

_“What are you doing?”_

Suit pried the panel off the bottom of the console, reaching in blindly to grab a fistful of wiring and tearing it out.

_“Look at you, crawling in the dirt for scraps of civilisation.”_

A hard tug brought out an old rusted circuit board attached to more wires, so she yanked those out too.

_“How long are you going to flail around in the darkness before you open your eyes?”_

Her breathing sped up, fogging the inside of her visor. More wires, a vacuum tube, another circuit board, she ripped them all out and flung them to the side.

“Hey-“

_“You don’t belong here.”_

Shoving her arm through the opening up to her shoulder, she grabbed an inner panel and wrenched _._

“Suit?”

_“You shouldn’t be here.”_

A cooling unit followed by more wires, she flung them to the side, her breathing heavy and laboured, her body coiled tight and trembling.

“Hey, Suit-“

_“Why you?”_

One final tug with all her body weight ripped out the piece she’d come for, a control unit, the force severing the attachments and cracking the case open. It was useless now. Useless, useless...

_“Useless, useless, useless...”_

It was all useless. What was the point? Why was she even bothering? Why-

_“Why you?”_

She whined, kneeling on the grimy hospital floor and clenching her teeth, gripping the unit so tightly that what was left of the case began to buckle under the pressure of her gauntlets. _Why me?_ She couldn’t catch her breath, each intake a fire in her lungs, each exhale causing her to desperately gasp in more oxygen. There was a pounding in her temples, a static growing louder and louder, the whispers growing more urgent, always the same question, always the same accusation, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t-

“HEY! Suit!” 

A hand appeared in front of her visor, knocking loudly on her view-screen like a door and she jerked out of the beginning of a panic attack, crumpling in on herself with a heavy metal clunk, the control unit falling out of her hands and clattering to the floor in several pieces.

MacCready crouched in front of her with his forearms across his knees. He watched her patiently, staring into the dark abyss of her visor as she regained her breath, concentrating on the intake-outtake of oxygen as her heart rate returned to something close to normalcy.

In the weeks since she’d hired him to help her on scavenging runs, MacCready had grown more accustomed to some of her eccentric behaviours; freaking-out being one of them. The first time it had happened he’d hung back at the edge of the room and waited for nearly two hours, not mentioning it once she’d come out the other side but stewing in the awkward atmosphere that remained with them for days after. The second time he’d ignored her mood swing and worked through it, hunting down general supplies and keeping watch for hostiles. The third time it happened he’d noticed there was a pattern to her silent outbursts that suggested more than a tantrum, and had spoken up. After learning that he wouldn’t be penalised for speaking his mind and that it actually helped the situation, he had taken it upon himself to monitor her countenance and intervene when he suspected a storm was on the horizon.

She’d hired him to kill the things she couldn’t, but now she paid him for much more than that.

“You trashed it,” he said quietly in an unimpressed tone, picking up fragments of their objective with a resigned sigh.

“... yes,” she replied, and neither of them spoke for the duration it took to pack up their haul and start the trek back to Goodneighbor.

***

Once back in Goodneighbor the pair headed straight for the residence Suit had taken up in at the far side of town in one of the more rundown buildings. When she’d requested space to for a workshop the mayor had readily agreed after seeing her work, allowing her to set up in what was once an old apartment-turned-makeshift storehouse until somewhere more convenient could be cleared out. It had four sturdy outer walls and access to a broken generator next door, however, and in just short of a fortnight on minimum sleep she had fortified her defences, powered up the place and claimed her position permanently.

The front door to the residence was always left unlocked, as privacy was something that had fallen by the wayside along with decent food and basic hygiene, and Suit had discovered early on that locking something only served to encourage people to get inside. Opening the door brought Suit and MacCready straight into a sparsely furnished sitting room containing a couple of mismatched sofas, an old coffee table and various odds and ends that had found their way in there but she had no particular attachment to. This was the only room she allowed anyone use of. The living area and workshop were hidden snugly behind a newly fitted security door and a strongly worded sign. Visitors came and went as they pleased and she either saw them in the front room or ignored them until they went away, depending. It was also the place where she and MacCready would sort through the haul from scavenging runs and it was onto the coffee table that they dumped out the contents of their various packs now, looking over their light loot with mild discontent.

MacCready stuffed two of the three food items they’d gathered back into his pack as Suit turned over the various connectors and couplings with resigned disinterest.

“How much was the box worth anyway?”

His words weren’t quite as casual as his tone and she put down an aluminium branch connector and rolled her eyes. If there was one thing MacCready seemed to care about, it was money. It was why she’d hired him after all. She didn’t know whether his reasons for leaving that Gunners group were true, but he was a man who’d take a wage over a payout and that meant she could buy something akin to loyalty from him. A set rate up-front with bonuses for good hauls kept him cosy, and since no one else wanted to hire him it made him just as desperate for work as she was to have someone to watch her back. It didn’t make him trustworthy, but it did make him useful.

“You’re getting paid regardless, what does it matter?”

His eyes narrowed at that and he teetered dangerously on the edge of a full-on pout. It might have been more effective were it not for his facial hair. It was hard to take that little goatee seriously. It looked like he wanted to say something, but after a beat he deemed it not worth getting into a staring contest with someone in a full face helmet and shrugged it off.

“Whatever, man... I’ll stop by tomorrow and take the leftovers to Daisy’s place.” and then he left her, muttering something under his breath that sounded a little like ‘ _ungrateful’_.

***

Once MacCready was gone, Suit retreated further back into the house for a much needed bath, climbing over miscellaneous piles of junk  and exposed wires as she made her way to the kitchen area to fill a kettle and set it to boil.

Living off the beaten track meant that certain repairs hadn’t been done to the building and a consequence of this was that she had no running water. Unlike the generator, water pipes were something she couldn’t repair, though considering she didn’t need water for her projects it didn’t rank highly on her shopping list. Safe drinking water was purchased by the can and any other needs were supplied by a barrel which she had to refill whenever necessary.

It didn’t take long for the kettle to heat over a tabletop stove and she poured the contents along with some cold water into a large cooking pot, resulting in enough tepid (though slightly irradiated) water in which to bathe. The temperature was fine; the Commonwealth was hot as hell already and that was before trapping herself in a brazen bull all day.

She climbed and stripped out of her armour and clothing with a satisfied groan, her garments the same ensemble she had found back in Cambridge, throwing them into the growing pile in what she considered the dining-and-also-everything-else area, noting she’d have to find a way to do some laundry eventually or else risk having to go naked in her armour ( _No_ ). A quick look in the swipe across her grimy mirror revealed nothing she hadn’t already noticed; her bronze skin a dry mottle of heatstroke and anaemia; the red-shot eyes and dark under-circles; how her clavicle jutted out under her flesh; the malnutrition evident in the sacking of her already small, well... sacks. Her now dull black hair hung limp and matted around her face, where sharp cheekbones had turned dangerous under her gaunt skin. She looked tired and sickly and not for the first time since she started leaving her suit at night did Suit feel... afraid. Afraid of the stranger she was becoming and afraid of the stranger she already was - and afraid that neither of those would matter if she actually wasted away and died before she could do anything about them.

She checked over the rest of her body, smoothing her hands over skin sticky from the day’s exertions and raw-red where the suit had chafed, running her fingers along the odd scar that ran across her abdomen and cringing at its precarious placement and unknown origin before turning to crouch next to the pot of water.

That was another thing that bothered her, though she wasn’t physically allowed to dwell on it without her body shutting down into panic mode. She began to scour the top layer of sweat off her skin with a rag as the kettle boiled in preparation for a second scrub.

Her memory hadn’t improved at all, and while she’d say she hadn’t been expecting it, well, she’d hoped that maybe... but no. She poured out the bowl and refilled it, this time adding dish soap and rubbing her skin until it turned sore. She still didn’t remember a damn thing. The voices had been coming more often too and they were getting louder, harder to ignore. They kept her awake at night and if she did manage to fall asleep from exhaustion, they followed her into her dreams and woke her, panting and tearful in the dark and sometimes, like today, they put her in actual danger. If MacCready hadn’t been there she’d have been an exposed target.

Shit was getting pretty dire.

She needed _something_ , but she didn’t know _what_. She doubted she’d find it in Goodneighbor... but how many other options did she actually have?

A final rinse-off with purely cold water left her feeling adequately clean and she opted to dry _au naturel_ while she used the leftover water to wipe dirt from her suit, sharing her own toothbrush to get in the grooves while inspecting it for damage. There were only a few scratches in the paintwork and they were something she was coming to like. It gave it a lived-in feel and considering she spent the majority of every day inside it, it seemed fitting. Outside of the work Mayor Hancock set for her (repairs, tweaks and bloody tech support) most of her attention was focused on modifying her power armour. She realised she’d developed something of an unhealthy attitude towards it, probably about the time Hancock once again offered her a drink and she poured it down the front of her visor to make a point, but the world was a dangerous place and the way she reasoned it was that anyone _not_ currently trying to scrabble into a set of full-body armour was probably crazier.

No. The Suit had her and she had the Suit and they took care of each other, and no amount of effort or expense could not be spared to improve them both.

Sadly, the novelty of such limited resources had finally worn off when she’d been forced to shelve a couple of hopped-up ideas; an inner cooling system being the main reason for her latent disgruntlement, but having a jetpack would have been pretty cool too. Scarcity hadn’t made further improvements totally impossible though, and while she was busy cooking to death in her own armour she was at least satisfied in the knowledge that even after she was roasted no one would be able to pry her out from under her newly reinforced plates. She’d bolted on a new core cover so that nobody could yoink her fusion battery out ( _why was this not standard issue?_ ) and installed a two-part security program that made the monster a paperweight without her presence. No one was putting on her skin, the thought of someone else being inside it made her want to vomit. 

She was already working on her next modification: compacting the stunner from a shock baton to give her ‘go away’ gauntlets a little more zap.

What she really hoped for though, was to get her hands on a robobrain. It was kind of a long-shot dream but she was sure there must be a way to minimise the hardware down to bare basics, enough to get it down to size and then somehow shove it in the suit to let it take care of trivialities like testing routines and functionality diagnostics. It would free up time (she was already convincing herself this was necessary) and also double as a personal organiser too, one that kept track of people’s names and told awful jokes. She fucking loved bad puns. It was probably doable. Unfortunately, the only one in town worth the parts was Whitechapel Charlie, and Mayor Hancock apparently required all three arms to keep him hydrated. There had to be a place to find old robot parts but she and MacCready had never been out for more than a day. She hadn’t decided if it would be worth the effort and there was already plenty to keep her occupied in town for the time being.

After buffing the visor, she pulled on an old yellow summer dress and climbed back into her skin barefoot, waiting patiently as the systems began booting up after the down-time period. Her HUD opened with a diagnostic of her health condition, bringing up the option to administer medical supplies where needed. Her radiation level wasn’t high enough to warrant an entire pack of RadAway yet and she was still missing parts to fit in an actual delivery system anyway - she’d broken one of those missing parts in the _episode_ earlier today. Still, any scav run that brought back _something_ wasn’t entirely a waste, and she could make money repairing some of the broken or shoddy weapons they usually brought back and stored in an old trunk in the front room.

Once her systems were fully initialised she clomped her way back to the entrance, unlocking the seven separate mechanisms on the heavy door that kept her safe and entering the eight digit passcode to open it before walking through, shutting the door and relocking it with a single crank and re-entering the pass to lock it again, turning around and-

Mayor Hancock was sat on one of the sofas, the front door open wide to allow the breeze (if it ever came) through. His boots were kicked up on the coffee table; there was a half-empty bottle of beer in the crook of one arm and a red inhaler in his hand. He waved a little package at her with a grinning invitation, a syringe he held between his thumb and forefinger that she took wordlessly and then turned to began a process of re-unlocking the door, re-relocking it, re-exiting her suit and administering the dose of Calmex into the disturbingly-visible vein on the inside of her elbow.

Back in the living room Hancock rubbed his hand over his mouth, snickering subtly as she re-re-relocked the door, threw down a box of foul Dandy Boy Apples onto the coffee table and then came round to flop down on the opposite end of the sofa from him with an unholy creak, throwing one arm over the back and settling in as the chem’s effects began to take hold.

Calmex was her band-aid of choice, bringing down her heart rate and heightening her senses, ripping off the veil of panic that normally covered everything around her. Seeing with such clarity was a form of control over what her world had become. If she knew what she was looking at she couldn’t be surprised - she could stick it into her grand living theory and use it to figure out what could be expected in the future. If she took Jet at the same time then she had the leisure to mull it all over as well. And also Med-X, because why not?

At least she’d stopped drinking.

Suit leaned back, tilting her torso in such a way as to allow her to stare up at the ceiling, tracing hairline cracks in the plaster until she felt herself falling just outside of reality to a safe observation distance. Beside her, Hancock popped a few Mentats and waited for her to relax enough to socialise with him.

Mayor Hancock dropped by every few days. Perhaps because he was less likely to be bothered while he was at her place but she could tell he was also burning with curiosity as to what she was setting up back there that required so much power and parts.

He either turned up unannounced or he did not, only visiting on his own whims, and she neither encouraged nor discouraged his patronage but the chances of seeing him were always higher after a particularly difficult day. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had MacCready keeping tabs on her and slipping him information. While she wouldn’t say she welcomed the attention, Mayor Hancock was proving himself to be the pinnacle of current humanity; witty, straight-forward and honest to the people who deserved his time. He was oddly charming and also kind of _hilarious_ \- it didn’t hurt either that he always had a steady supply of chems on him at all times (god, she’d been peeved when she realised what those inhalers were that she’d so easily handed away).

For whatever reason he’d taken it upon himself to look out for her, she was grateful he wasn’t getting in her way while he did it - even if he was babysitting her, at least he was being subtle enough about it that she wasn’t suspicious about his intentions.

She motioned wordlessly to the box of junk by his side of the sofa and he understood, dragging it round and kicking it along to her without even moving out of position. Apparently ghouls were stronger than everybody else, which was... well, _pretty neat_ , though it irritated her to not know the specifics of why radiation caused human cells to react in such a uniform way across multiple peoples. So far she’d identified two types of ghouls - black eyes and blue eyes. Hancock was the former. Suit had no idea what had caused the difference, or whether those differences extended further than that. She was dying to ask but having your body painfully ravaged by radiation to the point where all your shallow cartilage dissolved and you looked like a corpse seemed like it would be a Sore Topic to start casually grilling people about.

“Uh, buddy?”

_Wait, what?_

“Hm?” Snapping out of her inner thoughts she noticed that she’d turned her body to stare directly at him. If boring holes into his already-ruined face bothered him, he either didn’t take it personally or made no show of it on the surface. Mayor Hancock no longer seemed to mind when she zoned out, which was good, because she did it often. She quickly turned to staring at the wall instead.

“I know, I know. I get the same way when I go by a mirror,” he waggled his eyebrows at her and gave her a roguish grin.

She thought he smiled too much.

It didn’t take a genius to realise it was a coping mechanism for something. Hancock clearly had some issues and sometimes watching him flick through his list of pre-programmed Moods For Any Occasion like he was putting on separate masks made her want to give the guy a cake. Heaven knew she understood what it was to hide from her problems. Still, while she wasn’t going to, it at least it always stopped her from blurting out all those probably insensitive questions she had regarding his ‘condition’.

“I asked if you found anythin’ good,” he explained.

She had, and then she’d fucking broken it.

She wasn’t about to tell him that though, or perhaps MacCready had already done so already. He was probably at the bar right now, still complaining about all the wasted effort and that one turret Suit had assumed had been attached to the same network and therefore deactivated... _damn it._

She’d screwed up today, there was no denying it. It wasn’t even the first time either, and it clearly wasn’t going to be the last. Every time she made a mistake or wasted an opportunity she put herself and MacCready in danger. If her decisions got herself hurt, that was one thing, but she was pretty sure MacCready was sending money back to his family – either that or he was burying his caps in a hole and had bizarre morals whereby his cursing was somehow more offensive than shooting someone in the face. It wasn’t like she was going to stop hiring him because of it but it did add extra pressure in regards to making him take unnecessary risks.

Knowing that MacCready might have already mentioned her behaviour (and failure) added an extra layer of shame to her reply for Hancock, and she hummed in her suit, trying to find the right order of words to use to both answer his question and disregard it entirely.

“It...” _uhh-_ “No.”

_Oh, great job._

Hancock waited for her to continue, though his unconcealed smirk said he didn’t expect her to perform a ballad on her deficiencies. She squirmed in her suit and started focusing intently on the mismatched box of parts in front of her and he eventually let her off the hook by moving on.

“Well ain’t that a bite? Maybe next time, huh?”

_Maybe I’ll get shot next time._

“Yeah, maybe. Wasn’t the only place in town with bridge tech.”

He agreed and offered several suggestions as to where she might try next while taking another hit on the little red inhaler of Jet he was so partial to.

Suit busied herself with basic maintenance while he relaxed, sorting out the box of salvageable weaponry into piles of various states of disrepair, pulling working pieces from the most damaged and setting them aside to repair others. Over it all Hancock talked about his day, his hat, his lunch, about a lunch he’d had back when his mother was still alive, about a group of ne’er-do-wells in a warehouse across town, about how you could probably ride a radstag if you trained it young, and eventually he talked about nothing at all, just watching her work in comfortable silence until the sky turned the colour of his eyes and he had to leave or face the possibility of Fahrenheit seeking him out to see if he hadn’t been shanked on his way home.

“I don’t need another lecture on personal responsibility – especially not from someone who sets shit _on fire_ so much.”

With a groan he stretched out his joints and rose from the sofa and Suit did the same, tipping her work back into the box and standing to attention as he adjusted his hat and collar.

“Alright, how do I look? No wait,” he put on another smile and spread his arms, “I already know the answer to that and if we get you started you’ll never shut up.”

She had to smile at that and if her suit was capable of it, she’d have shaken her head at his teasing. Instead she settled for her customary half-bow-nod which she’d soon learned was the most polite deference anyone seemed to give him. Settlers witnessing it had taken to assuming she was some kind of giant metal servant, though the only two people that mattered in their growing friendship -namely themselves - knew that wasn’t the case so she’d given it no more thought. It cost her nothing to keep on humouring him and it was far less than he deserved for granting her a (relatively) safe workshop anyway.

“I’m out then, gonna hit the rail for some dinner, if you get bored,” he made his way to the door, “you eaten yet?”

Suit didn’t reply.

“Really? Sounds good. Might have that myself,” he filled in for her, and he left, throwing a wave back over his shoulder.

Suit closed the door after him, not bothering to lock it, and then shoved the box of parts back to its place with a boot before returning behind her security door to her personal rooms. As she passed through the largest room in which she’d bathed earlier, her attention fell on the open crate of packaged food she kept on one of the counters, her stomach churning. She really _should_ eat, the hunger was already gnawing at her insides, but when she looked over the supplies to stale cereal, chewy snack cakes and macaroni in neon yellow sauce... well, she could just eat in the morning. She could swallow something down with gulps of Nuka Cola before heading off to work and if she ever noticed how exhausted she was these days, then it was merely a feeling she was becoming accustomed to. Yankee cuisine just wasn’t up to her standards; there wasn’t a pasty or trifle in sight. Where were the prawns? Where were the pies? Why did everything come on a stick? Where were the fresh foods and home-cooking?

_Where are the cars and the television broadcasts and the military?_

_Why does the radio only play thirty-seven songs?_

_What happened to the government?_

_When did everybody stop bathing?_

_Why do some ghouls have black eyes and others have blue eyes?_

_...why are there ghouls at all?_

She walked on through, disengaging from her suit once she was in the small box room she’d taken as her bedroom, climbing wearily out the back and using its rigid stability to push herself over the last couple of steps to tumble down onto the old mattress where she slept. 

 _“What are you doing?_ ”

Or tried to.

 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

 

3:52am.

_Mother fucker._

After lying in the pitch black for what felt like hours Suit had eventually given up and rolled off the mattress, digging around for her Pip-Boy in the trunk at the bottom of her bed.

3:52am...

For a moment she considered taking it back to bed with her and having another go at that RobCo game until the world woke up, but she was never fast enough to jump over those shitty barrels and it made her jumpy, so that plan was immediately out.

Once she’d discovered what her little wrist computer was – one of those devices given to residents of those tacky public Vaults they’d been building – she’d taken it off and stored it away. Knowing that somewhere out there was probably a bunch of people locked underground, all trapped together like mice in a pet shop cage, burrowing and washing over each other in the tight cramped spaces... it gave her the shivers. The thing was broken anyway ( _definitely broken_ ): the numbers were all off, and the core functions were locked down tighter than House’s intern program. She didn’t need it anyway. Sure, the map function was nice, but not worth constantly stabbing herself with a tiny needle for, and all the other functions were now either covered by her armour or unnecessary.

She shoved the Pip-Boy back into the trunk and padded down the hall to the everything-area to force down some cold rehydrated InstaMash and a can of purified water, breathing only through her mouth and gulping it down in large bites. It had as much flavour as it did nutritional value and it put a weight in her stomach that sat like an awkward stone but it was best to get it over with.

On her way out of the personal living area she picked up her sniper rifle and filled her ordinance pack with the appropriate ammo, slinging the gun over her shoulder on the opposite side from where she wore her duffel bag, currently stuffed with some dirty laundry. After locking up the door she took a few minutes to put the repaired weapons from last night’s tinkering into a box behind the sofa for MacCready later that morning and then stepped out onto the streets of Goodneighbor, making her way for the exit.

It was quiet out on the streets and while she couldn’t ever say that Goodneighbor was _asleep_ , it occasionally took naps. The only people still around were the drifters and the Watch, and neither paid her much attention. As she passed by the old statehouse it occurred to her that Mayor Hancock might actually still be up; he kept some odd hours, but it was an idle thought and she kept on going.

The guard at the front entrance looked too bored to be on form and he didn’t seem to notice her until she actually opened the doors below him. She would have been irked by this had she not installed a new turret a few days ago; one that she _knew_ would locate its targets faster than any human guard could. Wall-buck could fall asleep for all it mattered; he’d sure as hell wake up if it started firing on anything. She traipsed on through with a measure of pride - it was her own work after all, so she knew it performed to satisfaction.

***

Walking in the ruins of the city at this time was always an experience. She’d done it a few times before; the first on an almost suicidal whim; the second time to recreate that feeling she’d felt of utter annihilation gripping tight around her throat for just a second as she looked out over the empty streets ahead of her. Now she did it because she knew she could safely, and sometimes a change of scenery was necessary for perspective. She got the feeling that there was a time once when she’d walked at night and imagined she was alone because the world had ended and nobody else existed to pester her anymore. It wasn’t a memory; rather an echo that might _become_ a memory if she immersed herself in it enough. It was kind of hard to _pretend_ that the world had ended when the world had _actually_ ended though, and that she was alone because everyone else had died wasn’t something that gave her any satisfaction in practice, but the reverence was still the same.

The city creaked and groaned and _breathed_ and her footsteps echoed off rubble and broken concrete as she walked along to the docks, but the constant sounds, while loud, were comforting in a way that listening to the rush of your own blood as you pressed your hands over your ears was comforting. It was white noise of another magnitude and it was so hauntingly relaxing that it felt even better than the sleep she rarely got. She wasn’t worried about people sneaking up on her. She had good hearing and the best audio receptors, and there was a rhythm to the city that the footsteps of another living thing would interrupt like a sledgehammer.

It took just over an hour to reach the esplanade and by the time she made it to the edge of the boardwalk that skirted the inlet the sun had started to creep above the horizon, its rays casting the floating garbage and broken shop windows in a golden glow unbefitting of how fucking awful everything was in the light - like a metaphor totally wasted on someone. She ran an extremely thorough perimeter check on the surrounding area, scanning it twice with her detection system before she was satisfied enough to toss her duffel bag onto a decrepit old boat moored to the dock, disengaging her suit and climbing out the back.

“Oh god...” she groaned as the air hit her skin, “this is the best...”

She threw her head back and opened her bare arms to catch as much of that cool breeze as possible, felt it soothing the hot flesh of her upper arms and back, under her skirt and on her knees, through her hair where she ran her fingers to separate the mass from her scalp. She just couldn’t do this back in Goodneighbor, that place was _crazy_ and she was bound to end up victimised.

_And to think, the height of luxury now is my getting mildly breezed upon._

She hopped over the gap between the boat and the rickety old decking where water lapped rhythmically against the rusted hull. A couple of decades hadn’t succeeded in sinking it. She wondered if the manufacturer would be proud that their product had weathered through an actual apocalypse. The craft appeared still seaworthy, not that she knew a damn thing about boats save that they floated. She was slightly nervous around water - something to do with _Poseidon_ (the actual, not the company), but the End had probably killed off all the angry mermaids... or made new ones? She’d be alright as long as she was on top of the water.

The boat rocked under her feet, though it was large enough that it didn’t throw her off-balance, and she heaved her laundry bag through a broken window into the cabin and climbed round to a side where the door was not blocked, entering and setting up her clothes line. She tied a piece of rope to two places at opposite ends of the cabin before taking her dirty laundry to the water-edge of the boat ( _starboard? Prowside? Booglyboo?_ ) _._

The water came from inland so it wasn’t too salty, and while it wasn’t clean it was still better than nothing, so she got to work dipping her articles under the surface one-by-one, then rubbing them haphazardly with a bar of soap. Once they were all soaked and soapy she ragged them around, scrubbing and slinging and stamping repeatedly until she’d managed to knock most of the dirt out and the off-water ran almost clear. It didn’t get the worst of the old stains out, but she hadn’t made those herself so it wasn’t really her problem. She squeezed as much water as she could from them before hanging them over her washing line inside the cabin, where the air would breeze through the missing windows but they were still sheltered enough to not fly off the rope if the wind picked up.

That out the way, she turned her attention to the main reason for coming down to the deserted harbour.

When she’d received the gift of ammo from time spent temping as a caravan guard she’d sworn that she was going to put it to good use, and she had. Every time she felt the need to take a walkabout now she brought her rifle with her, and she’d been practicing with it – not in the suit, out of it, where she could really get a feel for how it handled. She didn’t ever intend to fight unarmoured, but _when in Rome_ , and all that. She figured if she learnt on maximum difficulty, things would only get easier from there.

After finding the pistol back in the cabin Suit had been secretly hoping that it would turn out she had some innate, magical knowledge of how to use firearms, like she was secretly an assassin and had just forgotten how to do back flips, but that was snuffed out pretty quickly. She’d tried to ready herself but nothing had prepared her for how heavy it was, or the recoil on that first attempt. While she wasn’t a complete novice, it seemed her skill level ranged nearer to ‘awkward enthusiast’ than trained rifleman, though her preference for rifles over side arms suggested hunting wildlife over people. It was nice to figure out things about herself, even if she had to get there by a dubious process of elimination and the answer wasn’t entirely useful. 

The gist of target practice (as she vaguely understood it) was that people would put bottles on walls and then shoot them off, but it probably didn’t have to be a bottle for some reason. Suit assumed it would work just as well if she picked out things already around her and aimed at those instead; perhaps it would be a bottle already lying around, or one of the umbrellas lining the esplanade, an oddly-coloured brick or a piece of detritus floating on top of the water - once it had even been a chubby-bug but it had taken way too many bullets and she’d almost had to scarper before she finally managed to hit the body. She would do this until she’d used up a couple of boxes of ammo or until her arms got tired, always staying close by her armour and pausing to listen for trouble after every few shots.

Practice continued for a while as her laundry ruffled and dried behind her on the boat and the sun began to crest higher into morning. She picked and then picked-off targets one after another until she looked down her scope for the next and caught the subtle flicker of movement on the street ahead in the distance.

She crouched instinctively, sucking in a breath and throwing herself behind the nearest wall, gnawing viciously on her lower lip. After a moment’s hesitation she slowly peered over the wall and watched the lone figure in the distance, noting how fortunate it was that she hadn’t been found as whomever it was already headed away from her. The figure wouldn’t be able to see her from this position, so she shambled forward on her hands and knees to a position where she could get a better look, taking her rifle with her and perching it on the edge of the wall.

Looking through the scope she noted they were about a hundred metres away, oddly alone despite the way they moved, walking with that same confident swagger all the raiders seemed to have adopted. Her scope was quickly adjusted and she aimed her crosshairs on the back of their head, stalking them with minute movements. Raiders rarely travelled alone, but she saw no other movement on the street; whether they were close by or this one truly was isolated made little difference when her suit waited so obediently nearby to protect her.

She placed her finger on the trigger and watched silently. From all the way back here it was hard to think of the lone figure as something real and alive, something more than a shadow in a scope. She squeezed until it caught; the hair trigger that defined lives, knowing that with a fraction of a movement she could end someone’s entire life, that she could close the book on a story someone had spent years writing.

Suit might have expected to feel humbled, or even emboldened by the power she wielded in that moment; the power to choose between life and death, the power to change something so important to someone forever. Oddly enough she felt nothing. She was entirely sure she didn’t know this person, and almost-entirely sure she wouldn’t miss them if they were gone. She could do this. She could kill them.

But should she?

Just because she could, it didn’t mean she _should_.

_“You’re going to have to do it one day.”_

She wasn’t even surprised when the voices spoke up, mocking her with their acerbic, condescending tone. They were always there, waiting. She continued to follow the raider in her sights.

_“He’d do it to you.”_

“You don’t know that,” she replied in a whisper.

_“We all know that.”_

“You can’t practice with someone’s life even if you don’t like their outfit. If we shoot a guy just because he looks suspicious we might as well go around shooting everyone.”

_“He’s a thug, and a murderer.”_

“And what if he’s not?”

_“Stupid girl. Stupid, selfish girl. You wanted this. You wanted to live.”_

“But I didn’t-“

_“Why you? You wanted this! You wanted to live and so you got it. This is what living means now. All the lives that could be where you are, but you got it.”_

It was true. She couldn’t remember a damn thing but every part of her knew it was true. She’d woken up in a world where you had to fight for your place, fight for every breath. Out of all the people that could be standing where she stood, it was her that was here with the gun in her hands. Did she think she was above the natural order of things? Did she think she ought to be spared the daily pain that everyone else was struggling with? What gave her the right to keep her hands clean? Everybody had to fight. Everybody had to kill and live with that knowledge. If they wanted to live, they had to work for it, so why not her? What made her so special?

_“All those lives. You took their place. What’s one more?”_

Steeling her shoulders, she readjusted her scope again to compensate for his further distance and sighted down it again. Gritting her teeth, she placed her finger back on the trigger and began to squeeze-

_“Whoah-whoah! Careful!”_

Her finger trembled and she ripped it off again. The static that usually clouded her thoughts began to pulse and warp in her mind like a wave, lapping against the borders of her memories. Her body froze like a foot on the edge of thin ice and her mouth went dry. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, not even daring to breathe lest she scare her new ghost away...

_“Never point a gun at something you don’t want to destroy, honey.”_

She knew that voice. How could she ever forget it? It was the most beautiful sound in the world, that voice she’d waited all her life to hear and would wait the rest to hear again... Who was it? Who was the man that could wash away all her fears with a single word? What was his name? She knew that voice...

_You know that voice. You know that voice - you know that voice – please –_

She collapsed against the wall, sliding down with a rattle as she dragged her rifle with her and curled into a small heap in the dirt, bare toes scrunching into the gravel.

_please - you know that voice – you need to remember that voice - please don’t –_

She knew if she moved, if she stuttered, if she even _breathed_ she’d lose it again and she couldn’t live without it and she _knew_ that voice... if she could just remember that voice... Her lungs began to burn but she fought the need to take in oxygen, putting every fibre of her being into remembering the most important thing to her, hot tears running down her cheeks...

_Say something... say something, please... don’t leave me - please don’t leave me here alone - please don’t leave me here alone –_

But there was only silence and she could take it no more, and though she fought with all she had, her body betrayed her, wrenching in a loud gasp with a sound that obliterated the static and dropped her back into reality; back into the filthy, toxic, apocalyptic nightmare that she could never escape from.

She didn’t know that voice, and the voice was gone.

Her heart was heavier than anything she’d felt since waking up and it almost pinned her to the ground, but she had to get up because despite being completely and utterly alone, she had just confirmed that there were others on the streets now. It was time to leave.

She staggered back to her armour, exhausted despite the early hour, and clambered into it before she boarded the old boat to reclaim her (mostly) dry laundry.

***

On her trek back to Goodneighbor she happened to spy a radstag dancing over the rubble of an old butcher shop (the joke was not lost on her) and she didn’t even have to think about what she was doing as she put down her laundry duffel and readied her rifle, firing off a silenced slug that hit the deer through at least one neck. It faltered in its tracks and before it could register what had happened she put another bullet in the facing head and it dropped to the floor. She waited a moment to be sure she didn’t have to kill both brains or anything, and then marched on over when it didn’t get back up.

You could pick up ‘new’ meat (she refused to call it fresh) in Goodneighbor, most of it on a stick or in some suspicious gloomy stew, but she hadn’t tried anything besides the odd cow fillet here and there. Knowing that the food was prepared by people who thought roofs were a luxury item did little to tempt her pallet, and she absolutely didn’t trust squirrel and iguana bits – where were they getting these squirrels and iguanas from? There weren’t any! Rat meat, dog chops... _bear steak_... Suit had always thought it was an unspoken rule that you never ate anything that also ate meat.

Then again...

Who was to say radstags _weren’t_ carnivorous? She was wrong about a lot of shit these days, and she looked down at the radstag with suspicious eyes as she holstered her rifle but it was already dead and would be intimidated by her no further. At least she knew it was fresh _and_ who had killed it. If she didn’t like radstag then someone else would. She slung it over her shoulder by the back ankles and carried on.

***

When she heard the sound of her newly-placed light turret firing off ahead Suit realised two things: one, she was probably a terrible person who was more interested in technology than people if the secondary sounds of human distress ringing from behind the steady thrum were any indication, and two: that particular piece of experimental tech was designed only to open fire on those hulking green monstrosities she’d learned were called ‘super mutants’, so that meant town was under attack.

Hancock had warned her that they periodically made moves on Goodneighbor, though she hadn’t seen any since the day she’d first arrived.

She picked up the pace, jogging on toward the settlement and the sounds of turret and gunfire – then slowed her pace again, because why the hell was she running _into_ danger? – then sped up again with renewed resolve, for if she couldn’t kill a bandit, she could at least help with monsters - unfortunately when she hit Goodneighbor limits she’d slowed again to a leisurely power walk, huffing and puffing in her hot armour plating and leaning against a wall to catch her breath for a moment.

“Well, look who’s finally here!” came a voice that sounded far too congenial to be battling for his life.

On the top of the barricade Hancock stood with Fahrenheit, looking for all the world like two friends who had just met up to shoot monsters for the fun of it. Hancock touted a shotgun, its choke too wide to do any monumental damage at that range but enough to cut into several mutants at once. Behind that was the steady staccato fire of Fahrenheit’s minigun, and she sprayed liberally, interspersed with pauses to avoid catching settlers. To her namesake, small fires were blooming across enemy lines, the smell of putrid flesh cooking reached even through Suit’s helmet.

She turned and raised a hand to the mayor, surveying the battlefield just in time to see the Assaultron, KLEO, let of a truly impressive laser burst which obliterated the head of a charging mutant. The combined firepower of Goodneighbor was a truly impressive display of solidarity, though Suit had little patience for bug-bite tactics.

She threw her duffel bag, dead deer and long-ranged rifle aside, drawing herself up with a steely breath and charging into the fray, metal fists flying and grappling, elbows hammering into sides and noses. As a walking tank, it was only natural that she performed crowd control. Though she was unlikely to get in any killing blows, she did make herself apparent on the street, trusting in her reinforced plating to protect her from the onslaught as she took the pressure off cotton-clad settlers with pipe pistols. After the morning she’d had, it was good to lose her mind in something so far removed from herself. It took her mind from forgotten ghosts already seeped away back into shadows, and in a heady moment of clarity, she decided that when the fight was over she was going to put claws on her gauntlets, and it was going to be frickin’ _awesome_.

The thickness of their skin made the term ‘weak spot’ a misnomer, but super mutants were humanoid enough that obvious tactics still applied: eyes, throat, solar plexus, groin- _OKAY, NOT GROIN APPARENTLY-_

“Fuck!”

She’d clung onto a mutant’s shoulders and thrust her knee up into his groin, an attack that would have made a normal person’s ancestors double over and die – unfortunately it barely even rattled the greenskin, and while she teetered on one leg using him for support, her opponent used her own weight to throw her over. Like a turtle she was momentarily stuck on her back and her teeth rattled as the mutant began pounding relentlessly on her visor with the butt of his shitty rifle. She grabbed the leather waistband of his loincloth and yanked, bringing a flat palm to knife into his side: a risky move that might have ended with her death and a face full of green balls, but fortunately the material held and the sharp jab to his side caused him to flinch away, pulling her along with him and back onto her front. She crawled away on her hands and knees until she met a wall and used it to pull herself back up onto her feet, all the while waiting for the inevitable assault from her unfinished combatant.

As she turned around and readied herself to fight again, red gore splattered against her chest plate and visor and the mutant that had thrown her tumbled over forcefully to the ground. Behind him Hancock stood, shotgun in his hands and the barrel still smoking. He nodded to her then started making hand gestures that she couldn’t understand, shouting something over the din that she couldn’t hear through the ringing in her helmet. It was hard to make out any individual words through the audio sensors in her armour, too many finicky adjustments, too much gunfire, a nasty blow to her forehead from a particularly well-placed rifle butt, all sound blended into one long drone which reverberated around her skull. Hancock’s mouth was opening and closing but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

From the corner of her vision she saw movement and turned on instinct, throwing a fist into the face of another mutant and using the momentum to veer him off course and away from her. He stumbled and Hancock fired again, pellets shredding through the flesh of his leg and causing him to drop to one knee. Suit stepped forward and stamped a boot on the small of his back, reaching over and jamming her fingers into his nostrils, ripping his head up and exposing his neck to Hancock’s next shot. It tore through his throat with a violent red spray, the spread of his shotgun sending pellets tinkling onto her gauntlet, terminal raindrops she heard rather than felt as none penetrated her plating.

As she let go of the mutant, its lifeless body thudding to the ground, she locked eyes with the mayor who was still staring at her black visor with consternation. He seemed to have realised she couldn’t hear him properly and had given up trying to instruct her. Around them the battle raged, at least a half-dozen mutants still fighting, most converging on their position.

“GRENADE!” she shouted, her boom-heavy distortion giving the word clarity above the din as she charged up to meet them.

At first he looked conflicted even as he pulled one out and his fingers gripped the pin, but Suit used his hesitation to garner more attention, turning and grabbing at whatever mutants were already around her, keeping them in a tight unit to maximise the destruction. She wedged herself tightly in the middle of the huddle, green monsters on all sides pawing over each other to claw and bash at her, hoping their bulk would protect her from most of the oncoming explosion. Within seconds all she could do was huddle in on herself and pray that Hancock would take his chances and throw that grenade before they tore her apart. She tried to count down the seconds but couldn’t even get past the first number, each battering breaking the circuit of her own brain. She gave up counting. It felt like forever. All she could hear was snarling and snapping and gunfire and metal and-

Everything went black.

The blast hurled her back and her body landed with a crunch, rolling, skidding and finally coming to a stop when she ran out of space and was slammed into a wall. A conscious person might have stayed on their knees but the moment her back impacted the brick Suit fell forward into a huddled heap of metal, silent and unmoving.

***

When she regained consciousness, it was to the sound of hammering on the back of her suit. For a moment she thought the battle still raged and was overtaken with an exhaustion that brought tears to her eyes. Every part of her body hurt, her bones were stiff and painful and as she struggled to throw off her assailant she let out a sharp cry as tender skin rubbed against her clothes and armour. The explosion from the grenade had heated up the metal on her suit and scalded her thigh and hip. The pounding on her armour ceased as she slumped back to the ground, fingers clawing in the dirt. From somewhere far away she could hear voices and she fought to reply but her words came out as an unintelligible groan as she shuddered in the dirt. 

“Hey boss! Hold still!” MacCready’s voice. If he was down on the ground then the battle was over and their dumb idea had worked.

She tried to push herself up but only managed to shove herself as far as onto all fours, still hunched over in the dirt and debris. Over her laboured breathing she could hear someone else nearby.

“Hang in there, buddy,” it was Hancock, his voice full of concern. He probably felt bad for throwing a grenade at her – even though she’d asked him to. “We’ll getcha out of there soon, you’re gonna be alright.”

Suit was aware of someone shouting for a doctor, and unintelligible voices fading in and out of hearing, but she was already rising into a panic at someone trying to break into her shell. She began to struggle, floundering from side-to-side in an effort to throw off her helpers. They jumped back as she threw herself up onto just her knees, waving them away with angry arms that could do serious damage if someone got caught in her panic. Neither of the men could know what was happening underneath the plating, and they were torn over whether they were facing a mad dog or rescuing a wounded fighter from his death trap.

“Easy brother! Stay still, the doc’s comin’ now!” He moved back in, falling to one knee and trying to place himself in her range of vision.

“Get away from me!” she screamed through her distorted audio, the pitched-panic voice turning into what sounded like a wave of heavy aggression. She flailed again, trying to thrust her elbow into Hancock’s side, and again he jumped back from the swing, losing his patience.

“Whoah! What the hell, man? Calm down!”

“I don’t need a medic, get off me!”

She staggered up and back and would have fallen over had she not had a wall at her rear, propping her up. Hancock didn’t approach again, but the sudden change from her ever-respectful attitude was clearly disturbing him.

“You need-“

“No!” She braced her hands on her knees, doubling over as far as the metal would allow and gasping in air after all that exercise and injury. Her fingers drummed relentlessly on her leg plates, the tapping sound that others had been using to calm her down helped, making a rhythmic echo inside her suit that reminded her to breathe and calm down.

“Boss, you took a grenade... you should let the doc take a look.” MacCready was keeping his distance, as while he had already seen her lose her composure, he’d never seen her lash out at someone else even once. She waved a hand at him in a clearly negative motion. “It ain’t like they’re gonna charge you, man, c’mon... wait,” he turned to Hancock with a suspicious side-eye, “you’re not gonna charge him, right?”

Hancock threw an impressively _un_ impressed glare back at MacCready and began to pack his pockets down for one of his little red chem inhalers, the current drama finally overtaking his calm in the aftermath of the attack. He had other people that needed the mayor to be with them right now. The other settlers needed reassurance that the danger was over, and medical attention and supplies needed to be doled out to those who had participated in the defence. Fahrenheit was already on task, barking orders and meting out instructions. She cast a look his way, eyebrow arched impatiently at his dawdling.

“I ain’t gonna charge anyone for doin’ a public service, okay? You fight, you get taken care of.” He placed the inhaler to his lips and took in a deep drag, holding it for a few seconds as he looked to the clear grey skies above them. “Damn... I ain’t ever _tried_ to blow up a friend before...” he whistled, shaking his head and looking at her pointedly now she’d calmed down. “You let the doc see to you, okay? Look, Amari’ll do it. She’s got soft hands.”

He waggled his eyebrows, and to his side stepped a woman in a white lab coat, her expression showed she didn’t find Hancock’s jibe at all humorous.

“While I am hesitant to move you in the suit,” her accent had an immediately calming effect on the woman in the armour, “we can move to a more private location if that makes you more comfortable.”

Suit didn’t reply, and Hancock and this new Doctor Amari exchanged complicated looks.

“Look, I’ll leave you in her capable, _tender,_ hands. Get seen to, alright? Then later we’ll hit the Third Rail – drinks are on me.”

Suit still didn’t make any moves, but Hancock had wasted too much time here already. He looked uncomfortable, he obviously didn’t want to leave, but as he had no other choice he nodded and then walked away to return to his duties.

When he checked moments later to see Doctor Amari’s white coat among the other wounded, Suit was not by her side. Instead, in the distance, he saw the tell-tale black armour disappearing round a corner with their gear and a perplexed MacCready shaking his head as he left to no doubt requisition ammo to replace what had been used in the town’s service.

Cheapskate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delays between chapters! I am always working on this but life is super complicated. You should take pity on me and forgive me for this, because my country has currently exploded. *eyerolls out of the EU and into the depths of space*


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SuperBro chitchat time!

 

The evening after the super mutant attack Hancock had expected to see Suit in the Third Rail where most of the town residents had gathered to celebrate their victory. He’d sat alone by himself in a booth, waving away praise and doling out platitudes as the night went on, watching the celebrations turn from one-upmanship and camaraderie into a drunken desperate attempt to forget that the next time they might not be so victorious. As the hours ticked by he grew distracted and eventually allowed himself to be pulled into the festivities, though the niggling feeling he got when he remembered Jones’ words ( _“he’s locked himself in the suit”_ ) and seeing how that deferential giant turned feral when they tried to get him out of it gave him an odd vibe. It wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved by the liberal use of chems though, and he’d put it out of his mind and resolved to check in on the tank in the morning. His plan, and the feeling that accompanied it, vanished however; somewhere between falling into the sultry tones of Magnolia’s voice and waking up with one hell of a hangover, sandwiched between two traders stuck on layover from Bunker Hill.

In fact, it took him three days to remember Suit at all.

***

“HEY SUIT! YOU DEAD?” Hancock hammered his fist against the goddamn ridiculous security door that idiot had installed when he took over the apartment, shouting through the reinforced steel into the private rooms beyond. “GET OUT HERE!”

No answer.

“Shit...” he patted down his pockets for his tin of Mentats, flicking open the lid and placing a couple on his tongue, rolling them around impatiently as he strained to listen through the door for any sign of movement beyond. Was he dead? He took a fucking _grenade_ , there was a good chance he might actually be dead.

He tried again, thumping against the door with his superior strength, causing a ruckus even a corpse couldn’t ignore.

He shoulda checked up earlier, he shoulda _noticed_ when the big lug didn’t turn up for work. He shoulda paid more attention... probably shouldn’t have thrown a fucking grenade at him to begin with... it was a dumb idea!

“SUIT! I swear... if you don’t come out here I’mma blow this fucking door off!”

MacCready hadn’t seen him; Daisy hadn’t seen him; _nobody_ had seen him since the attack. He was definitely dead.

Fuck.

He tried punching in random digits on the electronic lock but knew even as he did it that it was a weak attempt. Even if he could somehow hack it open there was a shit-ton of manual locks on the other side. He was gonna need some pretty heavy ordnance for this one.

***

Fifteen minutes later found Hancock kneeling in front of the door, strategically placing mines up against the hinges on the frame. Explosives weren’t usually Hancock’s thing, but KLEO had given him the idiot’s course on not blowing the _whole_ place up when he went to her for advice about how to get the door open. The fact that this even seemed like a good idea when the Assaultron had suggested it probably meant his latest batch of Mentats weren’t quite the level of quality his dealer had sold him on, but he sure as hell _felt_ intellectual, so why the fuck not?

He was just about ready to arm them and duck back when a huge _boom_ sounded from behind the door, loosing small amounts of plaster from around the edges of the door frame. He jolted back onto his ass and was about to scoot away when he double-checked the mines and realised it wasn’t an explosion that caused the sound. One-by-one latches heavily, hurriedly unbolted behind the door and he got up off the floor, dusting off the back of his jacket in time to see the heavy steel wrenched back into a black hallway, where only the dim lantern light from behind him illuminating the edges of the hulking power armour that stood inside gave away that there was anything there at all. Hancock grinned.

“Are you serious?!”

So he wasn’t dead after all! Neat.

Hancock said nothing, waiting for his brain to finally catch up to the situation he’d gotten himself into. He checked Suit over for any obvious injuries but being covered in plating kinda made it hard to tell, though he noticed that the damage from three days ago was still present; the paintwork blackened and burnt off along the front and side was something he normally woulda fixed up by now, being as attached as he was to it. He was also hanging raggedly on the edge of the doorframe with a grip that could dent iron, hastily inspecting Hancock’s handiwork.

Suit turned back and propped his whole body on the wall, that fucking visor burning holes into Hancock’s face. He sounded pretty run-down, weird robot voice aside.

“Are you _actually_ blowing up my front door right now, Mister Mayor?”

Hancock looked to the mines on the wall, and Suit’s helmet followed his gaze. They both looked to the excess mine still literally in his hand right now, and then they looked at each other.

“Uhhh... no. No I am not.”

Suit was stoic for a moment, just standing there staring at him. Eventually he stumbled out into the front room and swung the door shut behind him (he must have been pretty bad if he didn’t lock it), walking tiredly over to the couch and collapsing in it with a wave of his hand in the direction of the mines.

“You’ve been missing three days!” Hancock growled, carefully, _grumpily_ disabling them and setting them down on a chest. He followed Suit over to the sofa and perched himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of him.

“You threw a grenade at me, Mayor. I’m taking the weekend off.”

 “Hey, that was your idea!”

“I have a lot of ideas, usually you say no! You wouldn’t let me put missiles on the barricade!”

“So you can blow up traders?!” Hancock stopped, sighing as he realised this was heading into an argument. He had to will himself to ease up.

Suit looked tired as all hell, even through the armour. There was something visibly...deflated, about him, that wasn’t usually present when they hung out, at least not _before_ getting high. At that thought he started to empty his pockets of chems. He’d brought noticeably more Med-X than he usually did, plus a couple of Stimpacks. Suit leaned forward and inspected his offerings quietly, picking up and inspecting a small unmarked bottle of Day Tripper. Hancock clicked his fingers and pointed at it in recommendation, and Suit took that and a syringe of Med-X into the back room with him.

While he was gone, Hancock settled himself on the sofa and popped a few more Mentats, following them up with a hit of Jet. By the time Suit came back he already felt the edge of his high closing in and stretched back on the old pillows, kicking up his feet and leaving just enough room for the tank to collapse onto his own edge. The pair of them sat in silence for a while.

“...I get it... I apologise.” Suit murmured, and it _almost_ sounded like he meant it. “I should have left out a note or something.”

Hancock eyed him from under his hat, remembering that he’d taken one hell of a beating and hadn’t seen the healer. When asked, Dr. Amari had shrugged him off and informed him that Suit had ‘politely excused himself’ and left. She hadn’t been quite as no-nonsense with him as she usually was, which meant Suit had probably made a good impression on her. He rolled his eyes. One-by-one all the women of Goodneighbor seemed to be falling for that bullshit gentleman act. When Hancock tried it they accused him of ulterior motives; that was just unfair. What was the point of falling for someone you’d never even seen anyway? Hancock imagined the women of Goodneighbour all in bed fawning over him, and the tin can still fully dressed in power armour. He snorted, shaking his head. When he imagined them trying to pull off Suit’s helmet and it turned out it was actually just totally empty inside he lost his shit, doubling over on the sofa and cackling to himself at their faces. When he regained his composure he noticed Suit watching him silently from the other end of the sofa, but he just waved off the unvoiced question before settling back comfortably.

“So... you alright, brother?”

“I’m fine... I’ll be fine,” Suit amended when Hancock narrowed his eyes at him, “I just got a little toasty, is all. Nothing that some Stimpacks and ice cream won’t fix.”

While Hancock wasn’t sure what an icy block of cream would do for a burn, he noted to have Whitechapel Charlie at least stick some milk into the freezer at the Rail later.

“You shouldn’t be walkin’ round in the suit if you got burns, man.”

“Do you know morse code?”

“No.”

“Me neither, so tapping through the door won’t work.”

“Why don’t you just take the damn suit off, Suit?”

“Fuck no. I’ll get stabbed.”

“You’re not gonna get stabbed!” Hancock thought about it. “You’re _probably_ not gonna get stabbed.”

Suit turned and looked at him, and Hancock was pretty pleased that he seemed to be able to guess what expressions the guy was wearing underneath that thing.

“I’m not gonna stab you. You’ve seen me not-stab lots of people.”

“ _You_ might not, but someone else probably will. I tripped over a body the _other day_. It’s ridiculous out here.”

“Yeah...” Hancock massaged the point above where the bridge of his nose had once been, “ignore that.” He’d had the local watch investigating it, but sometimes a murder was just a murder, and as much as it pained him to say, most of them went unsolved. “...what’s with you and that suit anyway?”

Suit turned to look at him, and then stared at the wall while he mulled over the question. Hancock watched as he lightly tapped a metal finger against his leg plate, the tap-tap-tap sounding like a clock ticking in slow motion, echoing through the pleasant haze of his jet-fuelled consciousness.

“...what’s with you and the ruffles?”

Ask a question; get a question. Give an answer..?

Hancock sighed, not really knowing how to explain. He was too happy right now to go into the whole stupid sob story; didn’t really feel like bumming everybody out over a damn frock coat. It wasn’t something he liked people knowing, and while Suit seemed like a pretty decent guy he wasn’t about to go pouring his guts out to him.

“Well... it spoke to me.” He shrugged and looked down at the faded red frock coat.

 Suit didn’t reply and Hancock wondered if he thought that statement was as dumb as it sounded when he’d said it. Sure - in a way it was true, and it wasn’t any more ridiculous than hiding inside a suit of armour – still, he wasn’t exactly proud of it. He didn’t look up, just toyed with the frayed edge of his ruffled sleeve, picking at a stray piece of thread. There was a ripple up his spine; the same feeling you got when you were alone but felt like someone was watching you. Eventually:

“...huh... mine too.”

Hancock’s eyes darted up. Suit was facing in his direction, likely staring at him. All the tension from moments before had vanished. His brow creased in consternation, and he felt the urge to laugh.

“...it doesn’t still speak to you, right?” Suit asked.

“No, no...” Hancock hurriedly replied, “...no. Of course not.”

He stared down at his hands which were clutching at his knees. Suit did exactly the same.

“No... yeah, no. Me neither.”

They both let out a heavy breath, and were each lost in their own thoughts for a while.

***

As evening turned to night Hancock noticed that the chems Suit had taken earlier were really starting to kick in. Blitzed on a mix of Med-X and Day Tripper he started to metaphorically come out of his shell – not literally, of course, he still excused himself whenever he had to take the helmet off, and on his second trip to the back rooms for another dose of Med-X Hancock’s thoughts turned once again to the grenade he’d pelted at him three days earlier. When he returned it was with half a bottle of bourbon and a can of purified water and as he placed them on the coffee table in front of him, Hancock noted that Suit was a halfway decent host.

“That bad, huh?” he asked as Suit settled back down on the sofa gingerly.

“Nah, I said I’m fine. I’d probably be taking the Med-X regardless.”

Hancock couldn’t help but smile, ‘cause while there was a shit-load of stuff he’d never understand about Suit, at least they had chems in common. He appreciated having someone around he could get wasted with that didn’t turn into a gibbering idiot when the high kicked in; and Christ, could they go through some chems between the pair of them. A small part of him wondered if Suit wasn’t a ghoul himself.

 “Well, you need any meds you let me know brother,” he offered, sitting on the verge between guilt and affection. You had to admire a dude who let you throw explosives at him. “So where’ve you been for three days then?”

“Inside. Doing incredibly busy and important things.”

“What goes on back there anyway?”

“I just told you. Incredibly busy and important things.”

Hancock rolled his eyes. “No, really.”

“It’s... you know, it’s my workshop,” Suit looked as bashful as a full-faced mask could be, shrugging his great shoulders. “It’s where I work.”

“We saw you bringin’ in some heavy equipment back there when you first took the place.” Generator supplies; a whole mess of spare parts; some odd machine pieces; when he saw MacCready and the tank dragging an industrial circular saw through the town he almost regretted that privacy agreement between them. Fahrenheit had wanted to break in one day when they were out on a scav run. It was only the top-notch repairs he kept taking it upon himself to do that convinced either of them not to go through with it. “Gotta say, we were a little worried at first.”

“Eh, I like to be prepared. It never hurts to have the proper tools for every occasion, even if you never end up needing them,” he paused then, staring at the ceiling a moment of contemplation, “is that what this was about?” he gestured to the mines, “you were just _curious_ and looking for excuses to get in there?”

“What? No.” _mostly no._ “Honestly, I kinda thought you were dead.”

“Uh huh.” Suit sounded doubtful.

“What?” Hancock tried to look innocent but couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement.

“If you were worried enough to try and _blow me up_ you should have stopped by earlier.”

“Hey man, MacCready stopped by and he said he got nothin’ from you.”

“Yeah, I heard him here, but MacCready minds his own damn business. You’ve been trying to get into my workshop since I got here.”

“I’m your mayor!” he tried in mock indignation, withered palm resting over his heart. “I have a right to be in there.”

“If you had a right to be in there, you’d be in there.”

“Hmph. What can I say? There’s gotta be somethin’ good behind that damn door. Lemme take a look at it.”

“There’s nothing behind that door, leave it alone.”

Were it anyone else Hancock might feel his stabby senses tingling, and it said something about their friendship that he was willing to overlook Suit’s bullshit. That antisocial weirdness was part of the whole package deal with him. It was nice to just hang out with someone who didn’t want anything from the mayor of Goodneighbor. In fact, Suit wanted _so little_ from him that the guy was always actively trying to throw him out. While he’d envisioned Goodneighbor as a No Judgement zone, it seemed like he spent half his time running after everybody and the other half running _away_ from them. It felt like this little shitty shack in the corner of town had become the only place where ‘no judgement’ actually extended to himself. He had no idea what Suit’s goals and motives were but his gut told him that it had fuck-all to do with anyone else, and he always trusted his gut.

...didn’t mean he wasn’t dying to know, though.

“There’s _got to be_ something behind there. At least give a guy hint!”

“Man, what happened to privacy!” Hancock laughed when Suit doubled over and hid his visor with his gauntlets, “I’m serious, does nobody do doors anymore? Daisy doesn’t even have a _wall_ in front of her shop. The hell is that about?”

“I don’t know where you come from brother, but you could walk a hundred miles in any direction and still find someone who wants in on your business. I should know.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. What is up with that? Everywhere I go I’ve got raiders popping out of the woodwork. Places I have to physically blast my way in and there’s somehow a guy already inside yelling at me. It’s ridiculous.”

Hancock snorted at the idea of Suit blasting through a wall into someone’s hideout. “What, no raiders back home?”

“Hell no- Murder is a _crime!_ What happened to the days when you so much as _looked_ suspicious and someone would call the cops on you?”

_Cops? What the hell kind of paradise did he come from, anyway? Maybe he really is a ghoul..._

“Hey, what do you want, man? I keep my town tight; there’s a whole bunch of guards out there ready to put down anything that even looks at my people funny. Most settlements out here don’t even have a watch.” While Goodneighbor wasn’t the most law-abiding place in the Commonwealth, the town had its own sense of justice, and it kept to it. “If you go prancing out into the city then you gotta watch your own back. Ain’t my fault when you go running into some raider hideout and then wonder why people are tryin’ to shoot at you.”

“Eh, that’s why I pay MacCready.” Suit conceded, waving an arm. “I just kinda miss the days when you didn’t have to make contingency plans for getting murdered.”

“Then you’re in the wrong town. You want boring, you go to Diamond City.”

“That’s the place that doesn’t allow ghouls, right? I think Jones mentioned it on our way here.”

“Yeah.” Hancock growled the word, wondering if a day would ever come when the memory didn’t make him want to claw his own throat out.

“Eh, fuck ‘em. Any society that builds itself on exclusion deserves to crumble. Everybody has the right to live until they forfeit it otherwise.”

That was... surprisingly human for the tin can. For some reason Hancock hadn’t thought him capable of being that on point. He momentarily forgot all about the pain in his chest, breaking out into a toothy grin that looked downright savage with his desiccated lips.

“Now you’re gettin’ it!” he clinked his near-empty bourbon bottle against Suit’s plating in a mock-toast. “Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people. We don’t care who or what ya are, so long as you don’t fuck with us.”

“And so long as you remember who’s in charge?”

Well now, they’d come a long way since _that_ conversation.

“This is my town, and you’re welcome to it.”

Suit gave him one of those unique little half-bow-nod things that he’d grown to really like. If Hancock was being honest with himself, they may have made his trousers feel a little tighter too... _What?_ Power was sexy, especially his own.

“But hey, if you’re achin’ for the good old days you should go see Irma at the Memory Den. S’what I do when I’m feelin’ a little... nostalgic.”

“I’ve seen that place, never been in though. What is it?”

“The Memory Den? It’s got these pods. They hook you up to a machine and play out a memory for you.”

“What? Like... how does that work?”

It seemed he’d caught Suit’s attention. The Memory Den was one of Goodneighbor’s reigning attractions even if few people actually got a chance to use them.

“I dunno, some brain stuff. You get in the pod and it puts you into one of your own memories, relive it. I go there sometimes when I get somethin’ stuck in my head. Or _someone_.” His voice dropping to a lascivious tone.

“But you do that shit all the time now as it is. How much sex do you even need?”

“All of it,” he waggled his eyebrows with a grin. “Plus in the pod I get it from _different angles_.”

Suit was quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers against his leg plate in a flurry.

“Can it show any memory? What about a really hazy memory? Like one you barely remember? What about like, repressed memories - or memories from when you were really young or... say, stuff you didn’t even really remember?” Hancock was surprised by the torrent of questions that came out from under that helmet. Suit seemed to positively vibrate in his seat with energy.

“Hey man, if you’re interested I can introduce you to Irma sometime. It’s kind of a closed operation but she’ll make a deal for me.”

“Would you?” Suit had turned to stare at him, practically bouncing like the world’s tallest, heaviest, most armour-plated kid. “When? What time does it open?”

“Whoah - well it ain’t open now.” He had to fight the urge to laugh at the crestfallen droop of Suit’s shoulders. “We can go tomorrow afternoon. Damn, never seen you quite so... animated. Must be some memory if you want to see it again so badly, huh?”

Suit didn’t reply to that, hands back on his knees and staring straight ahead.

“Tomorrow, after I’m done with work.” Hancock confirmed.

Suit nodded and after became preoccupied with his own thoughts. Hancock couldn’t blame him; there were some things that, once gone, couldn’t be brought back. Sexual conquests and amazing highs aside, sometimes all a guy wanted was a taste of mom’s old home cooking.

It was good to know that there really was a person under all that armour – and hey, maybe this would make up for almost blowing him up.

Twice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have printed out all your comments and piled them up. I go to sleep on them now like a hamster and enjoy the best dreams I've ever had. There's more love in the comment section of this fanfiction than I've seen in most marriages. Thank you guys! So, so much.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

 

It was mid-morning when Hancock finally hauled himself out of bed and stumbled into his office to the sight of Suit lounging on one of his sofas, flicking idly through the pages of a scavenged hardcover smut annual with her cheeks burning flushed under the visor, quietly mumbling to herself as to why it was okay that her tits weren’t quite as impressive as those of the ladies featured in the book.

Even in the apocalypse there was ‘A Type’, and she’d never been quite it. It hadn’t bothered her to begin with, of course; she was considered ‘classically beautiful’ in a way that sexy couldn’t quite cover. She’d always thought her face rather exceptional; hair lustrous as midnight; skin like burnished gold; plus a whole bunch of other increasingly flowery adjectives, blah blah. So what if she’d always looked young for her age? Once one weeded out the paedophiles it just meant she’d always look youthful when all those giant knockers got old. So what if her tits weren’t quite so _buoyant_? It’s not like anyone even looked like this these days! So what if she’d woken up in hell and was slowly watching her prized thoroughbred features wither away like a green tree in the Commonwealth - nobody else was doing any better. So bloody what if this was just an out-of-date book from a culture that had vanished off the fucking map overnight; a culture that prided itself on raising women up for totally irrelevant skills such as _existing_ and _not having opinions_. Nobody was expecting her to look like that now (hell, no one here expected her to have tits to begin with) so who even cared about this junk? It was just sad dirty people in a sad dirty hovel looking at shit that nobody had a hope in hell of attaining anymore. It’s not like they’d prioritise glamour magazines over fresh water and working turrets. She’d like to see one of these fantastic bints build an automated defence system out of a detergent bottle and a paperclip. Why, having small breasts was better anyway! They didn’t hurt your back or make your shirt buttons strain or _god damn it-_

She hurled the book down onto the coffee table and turned her attention to Hancock, who was gazing distastefully into the now-cold mug of hub flower tea she’d made for him earlier when she’d harboured hopes of his getting up before bloody noon. He flinched at the sound and snapped out of his reverie, taking a gulp and swilling it round his mouth with a disgusted expression as she watched him silently, stewing at his passiveness.

“I’m not takin’ you until I’m done with work,” he muttered groggily.

She narrowed her eyes as she glared at him, not dignifying his terms with an answer.

“I mean it.”

Still she said nothing.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she had to ask innocently.

“Glare at me.” She thought she saw the hint of a smile as he folded his hands primly into his lap, appearing all businesslike.

“I’m not glaring at you,” she said while glaring at him.

“I know you’re glaring at me. I can feel it through the damn visor.”

Chuckling, she turned away and tapped her finger on her leg plates. “Do your work later, come out and play.”

“No can do,” Hancock shook his head. “If Fahrenheit sees me leaving she’ll think I’m tryin’ to skip out again. I am opposed to dismemberment.”

Suit was about to complain when the woman herself stomped by out in the hallway, the distinctively heavy thud of her boots causing both of them to jerk in the direction of the door, waiting like mice as the cat slunk by. She sighed. That woman didn’t have an ounce of pity in her entire body and enough ammo in her pockets to crush a man as easily as shoot him. She could hardly blame Hancock for being wary. Suit could snap Fahrenheit in two but she’d still run miles off-course just to avoid another lecture from the woman. No choice, really.

“Alright then, what’ve you got?”

Hancock looked up hopefully, “I’ll go through the Watch reports, you check on the trade receipts?”

They both jumped up and nodded as they made their way to opposite ends of the room to do their respective tasks, scurrying like children completing chores before being allowed outside.

It was after Suit turned over a box that released a torrent of miscellaneous paper scraps covered in shabby nigh-unreadable handwriting that she realised Goodneighbor’s administrative system was more fucked up than an Escher painting. No wonder Hancock was always complaining.

There had to be a better way to do this.

***

TWO FUCKING DAYS LATER.

“Hm? What?” she asked absently with Hancock’s faraway voice poking at the edge of her spare consciousness.

“I said it’s been two days since you left my office. How are you still alive?”

Suit rolled her eyes and was forced to stop tapping at the keyboard long enough to unlatch a compartment welded onto the side of her thigh. She slid out a metal canister and set it on the desk next to Hancock with a heavy _thunk_. He lifted it up, turning it over in his hands to reveal the faded label of what was once an old pack of industrial solvent with some sort of rubber port on the side.

“Uh, what’s this for?”

 She was back to typing, answering in a monotone voice through the tick-tack of keys, “Breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

To her left, Hancock unscrewed the stopper and brought it up to his nose, giving it an experimental sniff. The canister had been thoroughly washed out and the contents replaced with some sort of fruity smelling liquid that sloshed around thickly inside. He brought it to his lips-

“Don’t drink that.”

-and stopped partway, arching an eyebrow suspiciously. “Why? What is it?”

“Mutfruit, carrot, melon, tarberry, fern flower and ash blossom, blended with Nuka Cherry, clean water and a little Rad-X for good measure, sooo... no good for you.”

She didn’t see the complicated face Hancock made at her at the list, but he shrugged and replaced the lid, setting it back down on the desk. She slid it back into the compartment on her side, hooking it into the delivery port (a fancy way of saying ‘very long rubber straw’) that fed up through her suit to her helmet. She dragged the end of the straw into her mouth with her tongue and sucked, bringing up the thick textured liquid that she gulped down. It wasn’t great but it was still way better than preserved stale foods and mystery meat. Plus, with her darling suit’s built-in filtration system they rarely needed to be apart from one another anymore.

“That’s new.” Hancock said, and she nodded absently. She’d done it during her downtime after the mutant attack, while she hadn’t been able to run around until her skin had healed up from excruciating burn to mildly irritating rash. “So now you can be antisocial forever. Great.”

She snorted inside her helmet - s _uck it wasteland! –_ and tried to continue ignoring him in favour of her self-imposed task; writing a program that would automate most of Goodneighbor’s record keeping. It wasn’t easy, however, because while she hadn’t finished her programming, Hancock had finished his daily minutia and had grown bored with inactivity and her constant mostly-silent presence in his office. He perched himself on the end of the desk and started playing with a small Vault-Tec bobble-head figurine that announced to the world he had charisma. Very Important Mayoral Duties. It wasn’t long before the constant _doink-doink-doink_ of its little head rattling on the body started to irritate her and eventually she had to save her work and push her chair away from the desk, turning round to face him.

“Is there something you need, Mister Mayor?”

He gave her a fairly unimpressed look, shaking his head at her feigned ignorance.

“We gotta get out of this office, man. _You_ gotta get out of this office. We’ve been cooped up for days.”

“I’ve almost finished this,” she gestured to the console, “then you’ll always have more time to go do...  whatever it is you do.”

“The work can wait. Ain’t nobody really touches that thing anyway. C’mon, I thought you said you wanted to check out the Memory Den?”

_Ugh..._

When she turned her head away and looked conflicted, he made a point of switching off the visual monitor and jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“ _Come on_ , Suit, this is an order from your mayor. Take a break.”

He was right, though oddly enough she didn’t feel like she actually wanted to go to the Memory Den. It was infuriating, but the more she thought about reclaiming her memories the less she really wanted to. Well, she _wanted_ to, but... it was hard to explain, even to herself. There was no static at the thought, no whispering accusations beyond the regular, nothing really barring her way from actively trying to do it, but... what if the answers didn’t solve anything? What if they just brought more questions? More regrets? More ghosts? More loss? Would she really be content knowing the details of what she lost or what she’d done? Unless the person she remembered was a time traveller, what good would it really do her?

_Don’t be ridiculous! Just get it over with. You’ve been hiding here in Hancock’s office for two days. You’ve been hiding in your skin for months. You’ve been hiding in your own damn head since you woke up. At least take a look._

One really was one’s own worst critic.

“Yeah,” she consented with a sigh, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

“Well now, where’s all that enthusiasm gone to?” Hancock tilted his head and looked at her suspiciously. “When I first mentioned it you seemed really taken with the idea.”

She shrugged her shoulders and pushed away from the desk, heaving herself up and taking a long moment to work out the kinks of sitting crouched in the chair for so long.

“It passed.”

“And here I thought it was a good look for you, brother.” He reached up and slapped her on the shoulder before straightening his hat and adjusting his frock coat, picking up an inhaler and stuffing it into one of his pockets.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Thought I might have a turn myself.”

***

“Mayor Hancock!” came an elated voice as they rounded the corner into a room Suit could only describe as a boudoir. There were red curtains draped over everything - a total fire hazard given how smoky the room was - and as her vision adjusted to the veritable fog left by a thousand cigarettes she saw several egg-shaped glass pods lining the room which she assumed was where the magic happened, all were currently empty. Suit was immediately struck with a bad feeling at the sight of them.

“Irma, darlin’. Looking gorgeous as ever.”

Hancock stepped over to a dais on which an older woman sat draped across a chaise, simpering at him and fluttering her hands in his direction. They traded words Suit didn’t care to hear, her attention focused solely on the memory pods and why she could feel static creeping in along the edges of her mind. She’d be expected to remove her suit, that much was obvious, and yet the uncomfortable feeling didn’t come completely from that realisation. It was something else.

She didn’t think she wanted to do this.

A cough came from her left and she was forced to look away from the source of her trepidation. She turned to where Hancock and Irma were both watching her, waiting for her to reply to something she hadn’t heard. She strode over to the woman who held her hand out almost regally in greeting.

_She’s a pale imitation of something that can no longer exist._

Suit’s eyes narrowed but she had no wish to be rude, so she cast the ugly thought aside and took Irma’s hand ever-so-gently, bowing over it.

“Madame Irma.”

Hancock rolled his eyes while the woman tittered, fanning herself as she withdrew her hand, delighted at the rare old world charms Suit fell back on when she had to engage in formalities.

“Well now, dear. I’ve seen you around but we’ve never been properly introduced before. I wondered when you’d come to visit me.”

Suit stepped back, nodding as much as she was able.

“Don’t be shy now, everyone comes to see little old Irma eventually. Who can resist the opportunity to drape themselves in nostalgia? That is the purpose of my humble operation here,” she waved her hand at the room around them. “To give the Commonwealth a little taste of the good old days. Do you like it, dear?”

Suit took another glance around them, though she didn’t need to double-check to know she did not. This place had about as much old world charm as a box of preserved snack cakes.

“It is a unique establishment,” she replied politely.

The answer seemed to please Irma, who nodded in self-satisfaction. “We do we what can in these bleak times. Mayor Hancock here tells me you’re interested in our _services._ ”

Suit ignored the sultry tone the woman had adopted and nodded again, keeping her eyes resolutely trained off the memory pods.

“I am told you can show memories.”

“We can indeed. For who doesn’t wish from time to time to relive the good moments of their past? To see loved ones long gone, experience again the events that stay with us forever? Here at the Memory Den we can provide that opportunity.” She smiled graciously, though Hancock zoned out of the speech he’d clearly heard several times before and Suit was far too jaded to buy into it. She also had a slight problem with that offer; she didn’t _have_ any memories she wanted to relive.

“How does it work?”

“Ah, for that you’d have to ask Dr. Amari, she handles all the tedium of our operation. I’m only the proprietor of this fine establishment,” she relaxed back onto her chaise, settling in comfortably. “You can find her downstairs if you wish to know more, and if you’re ready for a turn you come back and let me know. I’ll take care of you~”

Suit bowed again, and left the conversation before it turned awkward. She stepped back over to Hancock, “I’m going downstairs to see the doctor then. What are you going to do?”

Her question hinted at a need for privacy, and fortunately Hancock was gracious enough to understand. He took off his jacket, folding it up and hanging it over the back of a chair as he climbed into one of the pods. “Since we’re here I may as well take a walk down old memory lane. When you get down let Amari know that I want the usual.”

Her stomach turned as she watched Hancock pull down the lid of the pod over himself, effectively trapping him inside. For a split second she wanted to wrench the pod open and pull him out, something sitting horribly wrong in her gut at seeing him behind the glass like that, settling into a comfortable position innocently, having no idea what was going to happen... She shook her head furiously but only succeeded in bonking her temple against her audio control with a sharp hiss, at least effectively cutting off that train of thought before she could get lost in it. When she didn’t move and only stared down at him he gave her a reassuring grin, tilting his head in the direction of the stairs.

“Relax man, it’s painless. I’ve done this before.” When she still didn’t move his expression seemed almost concerned. “While I’m touched you’re worried, it’s fine. Go on now.”

Rather than cause a scene, Suit stepped back and turned away from him, not wanting to watch anymore. _He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine... he’s done this before, it’ll be fine. Just relax... we’ll only be downstairs..._ While the thought of either Hancock or herself physically getting into one of the pods make her hair stand on end and her blood turn cold, she still wanted to know if it was _possible_ to bring her memories back this way. It would probably be worth it if it was, though she knew that wasn’t going to be today. She felt embarrassed that she’d dragged him here only to back out at the last moment. After thinking about the opportunity to regain her memories since he’d mentioned it, Suit had been growing more and more apprehensive; not least because while she didn’t want to come out of her armour, she wasn’t entirely sure if she _wanted_ them back to begin with. It might be the only way to silence her ghosts for good though, and she had to know.

She trudged off down the stairs to the lower floor.

***

“Doctor Amari,” Suit spoke to the woman’s back as the doctor tapped away on her terminal in the basement lab, “this is where you work?”

The room was unremarkable, though much cleaner and less smoky than it was upstairs. Suit stood in the doorway with a wary eye on the two memory pods that took up most of the room. It seemed that these were for something more specific than the ones upstairs, arranged as they were across from each other; perhaps viewing other people’s memories? She didn’t know, and that wasn’t the purpose of her visit, so she shelved the thought away for now. There were several monitors though none were currently active, and some high-grade work consoles which she assumed controlled the operations upstairs. Nothing at a superficial level told her how any of this really worked and try as she might to wrack her mind for some memory of the technology (it had to be at least partially pre-End), she could deduct very little about it.

Doctor Amari finished the last of her notes and turned away from the terminal, “Ah, Mister Suit, come in.”

“Please, ‘Suit’ is fine,” she replied, and both the women couldn’t help the flicker of awkwardness that passed over their faces at the absurdity of that damn name. She stepped into the room and gave a small incline in greeting.

“Well then, Suit, you are feeling better since we last met?”

“Yes, thank you. My injuries were uncomfortable, but not untreatable.”

“That’s good. Too many people insist on wasting my time for things a simple round of stims could fix.”

Their last meeting had been brief; she had not been in the state of mind for introductions and had excused herself with as much alacrity as possible, practically fleeing the scene. While the scalding on her skin had been painful and it still rubbed raw against her under-outfit she’d considered it not worth coming out of her armour for treatment. While she didn’t have the medical skills the doctor did, she was at least capable of jabbing round after round of stimpacks in by herself.

“I assume you are not here for a social call, then?”

“No, ah- before that, Mayor Hancock is upstairs; he says he’s here for ‘the usual’.”

Doctor Amari managed not to roll her eyes and briefly turned round to begin the procedure on one of the consoles, spending a few moments at the screen muttering directions to Hancock through a microphone. Suit had declined to ask what the ‘usual’ was though it was easy enough to guess that he was something of a regular. She didn’t think she really wanted to know what his memories might be, honestly. One of the monitors flickered to life and she was briefly tempted to stare at it, seeing for a moment a gentleman on the screen she hadn’t met. The image was too small to make out any concrete details from where she stood, though she could tell he was blonde. If that was something in Hancock’s memory it meant that Amari would be watching everything her clients were remembering... so much for patient confidentiality. She pulled her focus away, feeling something obscene in watching it.

“Alright, that’s done,” Doctor Amari turned back to her. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to know more about the capabilities of your memory pods before I considered trying them. Miss Irma sent me to you.”

“Of course she did. Irma is only here for her questionable decor and to handle the clients. It’s rare that people want to know the considerable science behind the experience.”

Suit shrugged her great metal shoulders, “I’d rather not trap myself inside a piece of technology before I knew what the outcome was.”

“A good attitude,” the doctor nodded, folding her hands in her lap and giving Suit her full attention. “What did you wish to know?”

“Hm, well why don’t we start with a run-down on how it works?” Before the woman could speak, she held up a hand. “Neuroscience isn’t my forte, Doctor; the details would be lost on me, I’m sorry to say. Small words where possible please.”

Amari almost seemed frustrated with that but then accepted Suit’s shortcomings with grace. It might have been nice for the woman to talk shop with someone whose education extended beyond counting on their fingers, but she was probably already used to the disappointment.

“Connect through here,” She stood and pointed to a connection port on the inside of the lounger, “watch through here. You’ll be both watching and _in_ the memory; it’s a dual-process. I monitor your progress here at the main operations console to ensure everything is working properly.”

“Ah, very concise, thank you. So...” it seemed like a given and a pretty dumb question, but she had to ask all the same. “I’d have to be out of my suit then, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Amari quirked her lips into a bemused smile.

“And the memories...”

“We connect to the part of your nervous system that runs through the medial temporal lobe, where the part of your brain known as the ‘limbic system’ is located. There is where your memories are stored. When you think of the memory you wish to relive we find it through an increase in brain activity, and dredge it up for you.”

_Well that might be a problem..._

“So it has to be a strong memory then?”

“A strong memory is preferable, yes,” the doctor confirmed.

“And if I were to want to relive a weak memory...”

“That is where it gets complicated. Information is stored in your brain in such a way that every memory is connected to every other memory. If you were to think of what fragments you could in a particular memory, the tenuous strands would connect to other memories and it would be very difficult to narrow it down to a particular scene.”

“I see,” _let’s make this hypothetical..._ “So would happen what if a person had no memories at all? What would you find then?”

Doctor Amari pursed her lips in thought.

“Well... in such a case I suppose we would search for _inactivity_ in the limbic system. We’d just have to start at a random location and follow wherever it leads. Such results would be inconclusive, disorientated, very difficult to get a clear connection on. It would be like viewing all memories at once, exactly as the brain parses them. The sensory overload would be immense. I would not recommend it.”

_But it would be a good way to find a lot of memories very quickly..._

Suit tried to imagine what that would look like though the only comparison she could come up with would be a particularly jumpy high. She took chems to calm down – psychedelics weren’t really her thing, not that she could remember trying any.

“Well, fascinating in any case.”

“Not for the person experiencing it, I’m afraid.”

Amari’s tone seemed to brook no discussion. She could tell the woman seemed reluctant to the idea even though it was an apparently hypothetical situation. It wasn’t completely off the cards though. She wasn’t sure how much Amari loved her job but all passionate craftsmen craved a challenge; she was proof of that sentiment herself. Still, it would involve a high degree of risk – leaving her skin, sitting unprotected in one of those... pods, having her brain hooked up and completely at the mercy of someone she’d barely spoken to in a world that barely existed.

Still, something to think about.

“Is that the mayor’s memory?” she asked, and though the answer was obvious it helped to steer the conversation away from her own business.

“Yes, Mayor Hancock visits on occasion. This is one of his more _modest_ memories.” Amari replied, looking over her shoulder at the monitor behind her.

“Well in that case...” Suit took a step back and waved, “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor. I’d rather not intrude on him.”

“Of course. Will you be giving it a try?”

“Not today, thank you. But I shall keep it in mind.”

“As you wish. I’ll get back to my work now.”

“Thank you again.” Suit nodded and made her way back to the door. Amari had turned back to her work and was immediately engrossed in small details with charts and monitors that Suit couldn’t make anything of, but she was grateful the woman wasn’t part of a hard sell and she was met with no resistance as she turned and went back upstairs.

***

Hancock remained in the pod for a while, still and silent and engrossed in old memories. He looked sort of small in there – well, he was _always_ kind of small, wiry little bastard that he was, and everyone looked little when you were in power armour – but there behind the glass he seemed to have a kind of vulnerability that Suit couldn’t help worrying about no matter how many times she consoled herself with the fact that he’d clearly done this before. She had no real reason to stick around anymore; it was unlikely that something would actually happen to him if she left, but she reasoned that if she was unconscious she’d absolutely not want to wake up and find everyone ( _everything_ ) had left without her, so she decided to wait it out.

The velvet sofas with their delicate little carved legs looked unlikely to hold up under her weight and Suit didn’t want to become known as the person who trashed the last nice piece of furniture left in the world, so she passed the time by making circuits around the room, scanning tatty posters and poking at crystalline droplets on chintzy lampshades until, in an effort to escape Irma’s increasingly aggressive advances, fled into one of the side rooms.

It looked like a nerd had exploded in here.

Somebody _really_ liked the Shroud. Looking around Suit glanced over posters, pictures, cut-outs and memorabilia, action figures and lunchboxes, some hideous mess that looked like a paper-mache attempt to recreate a burn victim, a memory pod with a themed blanket, a couple of plastic props, an actual burn victim, some homemade artwork of the Shroud fighting a mutant, a themed romper set- _wait_ -

_Oh._

“Hello,” she said awkwardly to the ghoul in the corner by a ham radio who was staring at her silently, “didn’t notice you under all this crap. My apologies.”

He was silent for a moment while his bewilderment turned to irritation and he turned fully in his seat to face her.

“I-i-it’s not crap! This is genuine authentic Silver Shroud m-memorabilia! This is the biggest collection in the Commonwealth!”

_Nerd alert!_

“I won’t argue with that,” she said, raising her hands in surrender, “it took me by surprise is all. I did not expect anyone to still care about such frivolities.”

_Am I making this worse? I’m making this worse._

“It looks like I wandered into your private quarters. Again, I apologise. I’ll just go-“

 “That’s b-because people have forgotten what it’s like to believe in something!”

She stopped mid-stride, only half turned away from him. He looked affronted, but more than that, he looked upset. Normally she wouldn’t encourage a grown man to be collecting kiddy toys and themed pajamas, but here in this room, curled up in his little nest of useless shit, he looked young. Most people these days, even the children, had a hard edge to them, carved off in radiation and teeth and bullets. This person looked small in even a way Hancock couldn’t manage. She turned round to face him again.

“...yeah, I suppose it does have kind of a nostalgic feeling to it, doesn’t it?”

He visibly brightened, nodding enthusiastically. “You ever listen to the Silver Shroud radio show?”

“You mean the one that’s playing on- oh, is that you?” she gestured to the radio behind him.

“Sure is!” It seemed he didn’t often get an audience, or perhaps everyone in Goodneighbor had already grown used to ignoring him, odd as he was, so she was immediately forgiven her transgressions. “B-back in the day I used to listen to every broadcast. The Silver Shroud, fightin’ bad guys an’ makin’ things b-better... We need that kinda hope again. When I stumbled across an old tape, I started my own radio show so everyone could listen.”

“It’s good to share,” she said sagely, because it was better than pointing out that it clearly wasn’t filling the world with hope.

“The Silver Shroud...” he said with an air of wistfulness, “Now that’s who we need. Someone to stand up for the little guy.”

“It’s good to share,” she repeated sagely, because it was better than pointing out that she had absolutely no interest in the Silver Shroud and its awful melodrama acting.

“Imagine if he was real, if he was here right now standin’ up for justice an’ bringin’ everyone hope...”

“If he was real, then all the villains would probably be real too, and we have enough of those.”

“I got a plan,” he said, ignoring her completely, “to bring the Silver Shroud back to life.”

“Like... necromancy?” _Is necromancy a thing now too?_

“No! Look, I m-made my own silver submachine gun,” he got up and dug something out of a themed chest underneath his desk, pulling out a glistening gun that looked shinier than anything in the End had any right to be. “It’s even better than the original!”

She stepped forward, interested now, and took it from him, turning it over in her hands and looking over the frankly excellent job he’d done on the minute mods and custom design.

“This is... actually really good,” she muttered, looking up at him anew. “You made this?”

He nodded, obviously proud (and rightfully so).

She handed it back to him so he could stow it away again.

“Yeah. All I’m missin’ now is the costume. Then I can bring the Silver Shroud to life and stop bad guys!”

“You’re going to... dress up in costume and shoot people?”

He nodded, obviously proud (and less rightfully so).

“I... well, I don’t know what to say.” She really didn’t.

“Say you’ll help me!”

“What?”

“Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask, b-but I can’t do it alone.” He looked at her beseechingly, his eyes growing wider all the while until they threatened to engulf his face. She could see her own reflection in them as they glistened, lens flares blinding her with his radiating innocence.

_God damn._

“...what do you want.”

“You know they were filming the TV show right here in Boston? They got an authentic Silver Shroud costume not far from here! If you could go get it...”

_Is it hot in here?_ Suit couldn’t help feel that something had gone horribly wrong with this conversation. _I think it’s hot in here._ The lasers of his bright eyes burned through her visor as he stared at her.

“You want me to... fight my way through a bunch of monsters to get you a costume?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask but... I know this will work! I just wanna make the world a better place, I have to do _something_!” Nyow! Right to the heart went his lasers, his hope burning brighter than the midday sun. She almost stumbled back. Why he couldn’t open a soup kitchen she _just didn’t fucking know-_

But... maybe it would be nice to bring a little hope into the world.

Besides, he was never actually going to go through with it.

“Alright. Tell me where to go.”

 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get your wicked awesome Boston accents out! It's time for a side quest!

 

That afternoon had seen Suit traipsing across the old city of Boston in search of Connolly’s costume, which he had assured her was still at Hubris Comics, a store not far from Goodneighbor. She’d been tempted to point out that he could have gone and gotten it himself at any time, but it would have been a low jab as, after all, she had her suit and all he had was a bunch of plastic memorabilia.

She went alone. MacCready had taken another job while she was recovering from the mutant attack, and Hancock had seen her off near the main gate, opting to head to the state house for a pick-me-up after his turn in the memory pods. He’d offered to accompany her but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it and declined, though he seemed entertained by her current quest.

“Yeah, Kent’ll do that,” he’d said with a grin. “It’s the eyes that getcha.”

The journey there had been uneventful, though the sundered little shop had been a different matter entirely. Perhaps the corpse out front should have been her first indication, though she’d put it down to his lack of armour over the inherent danger within. Crossing the doorstep had led her straight into a bloody _army_ of zombies though. One after another they came, pouring out of every hole, from every corner. Over the rubble they came at her, leaping from shelves to cling to her shoulders, rotten sharp teeth gnawing on her plates and soft necrotic flesh bursting over her visor as she flailed to drag them off. The smell was so foul that she could have sworn it penetrated her armour and she struggled not to wretch in her own helmet as she battled through, swinging with an axe she’d liberated from behind a glass display case, punching through the cover and making away with it.

It had taken hours to clear through the zombies and she couldn’t praise her suit enough, for on the top floor had been a truly horrifying abomination of nature: a bright shining nuclear corpse that came at her in irradiated fury, throwing her clear on her ass and sending her new weapon skittering across the floor. She’d rolled over it, pinning it down with her weight and giving as good as she got, clawing and scrabbling at its own skin in return. It had come away in great glowing pieces and it seemed as if she’d have to dismantle it entirely before it was finally dead. Eventually it stopped moving, but not before she’d carved a decent cavity in its chest, pure toxic slurry leaking out. After that the remaining stragglers pounding ineffectually on her back had been simple compared to their alpha, and once put down she’d sat against the wall to catch her breath, wondering how many of these monsters had been employees, occupants and customers. Perhaps the original Shroud himself had been in appearance? Perhaps that had been him.

By the time she’d gathered her treasures and made it back to Goodneighbor night had fallen beyond even the drifters being awake and she’d stepped into town covered in guts and gore, pleased few would see her in such a state. The Watch was there, though they declined to mention her new paintjob, and she passed through town to her own apartment with little fuss, heading straight through to her private rooms to wearily disengage her skin and clamber out the back with a groan.

By all rights she should have been a lot stronger these days, had a lot more stamina, built up her endurance after all the hours spent piloting her armour; in truth her dangerously unsteady diet meant gaining muscle had been an impossibility when all her calories went to simply staying alive. She hoped she’d fare better with her new juice menu, though the lack of protein meant she wouldn’t be winning any weight lifting competitions in the near future. At least she wasn’t too exhausted to boil some water and give herself a rag bath; usually after work she barely had the energy to stagger onto her mattress and pass out.

After washing she used the leftover water to scrub the fetid blood off her armour, taking particular care on the gauntlets where strips of decaying flesh and rot had lodged between the joints. She also took the time to clean off the axe she’d found in the store, drying it thoroughly before putting it to a sander and then oiling the metal. This done, she unfolded the crumpled Shroud costume she’d recovered, shaking it out and hanging it up to air out the worst of the must before handing it over to Connolly in the morning.

The Silver Shroud costume hadn’t been the only piece of fuckery she’d picked up at the comic store, though.

Suit unravelled the green loincloth and set it down on her mattress, laying the gloves and soft leather boots next to it before kneeling in front of the ensemble to look at it closely. It was a pretty good replica of the Grognak Barbarian outfit; soft leather and fine dyed suede with shiny brass details on the belt and the gloves. Grognak the Barbarian was almost as dumb a premise as the Silver Shroud (though anything that lacked robots wasn’t worth it in her own opinion), but it did have a kind of kitsch charm to it. It took only a moment before curiosity struck her and she stood up, peeling off her robe and pulling up the skirt. It was made for a muscle-man and as such would have fallen off easily, but it was the work of seconds to poke an extra hole in the belt and tighten it enough to fit. The excess fabric rumpled and folded, flaring out more than the costume would have wanted, hanging low on her hips and reaching to just below her knees. A moment of digging about in her trunk revealed an old scavenged tennis bra that she put on, and she pulled up the leather boots and tugged on the gloves to complete the costume, picking up the replica axe and resting it on her shoulder as she struck a pose.

“...nah. Way too big.”

She kicked off the boots and threw them and the gloves into the corner.

 “Me... Grognak? I guess?” Without the rest of the outfit she reckoned she must have just looked like an idiot in a loincloth. “Me have no respect for other cultures! Me ruin perfectly good harps and perpetuate gross stereotypes against women!”

She sighed, shaking her head, “This town already has way too many bloody costume players in it. I don’t think we need another one.”

She placed the axe back on top of the shelf then unclipped her tennis bra and threw it back in the trunk. She was hesitant to remove the last piece of the outfit though. Once she stopped thinking of it as a comic costume and took it on its own merits... well, it was kind of nice. Old as it was, the suede was still soft against her skin. The cutaway revealed her legs, slender though dotted with bruises. Where it mostly covered her upper legs it still revealed the jutting of her hips, home to the rippled echoes of the grenade incident. She ran her fingers softly up the back of her thigh, stroking further along the once-pert curving outline of her ass, appreciating at least the naturally soft expanse of skin that required no great thought and seemed to take care of itself. Her other hand traced over her small breast, lifting up and peering down to appreciate the illusion of mass before she let it go, flicking a thumb over a coppery nipple as she passed it on her way down to run her hand over the ridges of her ribcage, visible through her skin with recent malnourishment. With a frown she trailed away and further still; breath hitching as she skimmed delicately over her hip bone under the belt, pausing to revel in the pleasurable sensation until her fingers landed on the edge of the old scar above her mons pubis. Her brow furrowed and Suit brought both her hands to bracket it, leaning over to peer at the raised dark line that ran an accusatory brand over her skin.

Her shoulders dropped, as did the almost-mood she’d been building up towards. Some things she didn’t even _want_ to answer. She let her hands fall away from yet one more mystery, turning off the light and flopping onto the mattress without even bothering to remove her costume.

Sleep came quickly, and it brought with it dreams of strong hands brushing tenderly over her body; hands whose skin then became scarred and withered; whose touch then became rough and desperate, until she realised they belonged to Hancock, and he was trying to hold on to her but the glass came down to trap him and the frost began to creep in from the edges like spider trails and then she dreamt of nothing at all.

***

In the Memory Den all was quiet. The proprietor, Irma, had yet to wake up and usual activities had not yet begun for the day. Suit stopped outside Connolly’s room, knocking once to announce herself and waiting until the occupant made his way over to open it for her. On peering from behind the door his face lit into a bright beaming smile when he realised who it was.

“Oh man! It’s you! Come in, come in,” he stepped aside and she tramped inside, the outfit in question hanging from a coat hanger that she’d hooked gingerly over one finger. Connolly was too excited to bother with pleasantries, almost slamming the door behind him as he spun round to look at it. “Is that it? Oh man, that’s it... I can’t b-believe you really went and got it...”

Suit stared down at him impassively and held out the coat hanger for him to take it. His touch was almost reverent as he reached forward and ever so carefully plucked it from her steel finger. He had to hold it up above him, being short as he was, and he stared up at it with wide eyes.

“The genuine Silver Shroud costume herself... I can’t b-believe it...”

“Believe it.” She replied flatly.

Kent hung it on a nail on the wall, taking a moment to pat it down for lint and dust, smoothing out creases. He then scurried over to his desk and dug around in a drawer, digging out a small bag which he turned and handed to her. “Here, I got this to give you. I didn’t know if you were comin’ b-back, it’s just a little somethin’ to say thanks for helpin’ me.”

She looked down at the pouch, jangling it in her hand. The sound from inside revealed it to be bottle caps, which she hadn’t expected. She shrugged and deposited it in one of her ordnance packs, “Thanks man. There’s some other crap here too,” she dumped a plastic bag on his bed without ceremony.

“Memorabilia? Awesome! Here, let me get you some more-“

“No need, I’m good.” She held up a hand and shook her head, not really knowing where he managed to get his money if he never left the room. Maybe mods? She stepped back, “well, I guess we’re done here. Good luck with your-“

“Wait! Now we gotta do the next part of the plan!”

_Oh god, is he really going to go through with this?_

“That, uh... that isn’t really anything to do with me, is it? I mean...” _how to put this..._ “Dude, I don’t think you’re the, uh...”

“The type? Yeah, I know. That’s what I b-been thinkin’ about.” He said sadly, shaking his head and looking wistfully at the costume. “See, I could Rhett Reinhart, or, or maybe his b-butler? Jarvey B-Blake? Just... I’m not really cut out for the Silver Shroud himself.”

Suit shrugged her shoulders and smiled sadly at him, though he couldn’t see it under her helmet.

“Yeah, it’s a tough world out there, man. I think it’s for the best.”

“Exactly!” Connolly exclaimed with an enthusiasm that came thoroughly out of nowhere.

“Well at least you got some good stuff out of it-“

“That’s why I think _you_ should be the Shroud!-”

Suit stopped mid-sentence and stared at the door with a longing in her eyes. She could just go. She could just go now and be done with it. It’d be rude, and he’d probably get all upset, but she could totally just go. Maybe he’d cry a little bit, and then he’d go out and get himself shot a little bit, and then he’d- _damn it!_

“I don’t think it’ll fit me,” she said, arms gesturing up and down her expansive metal torso.

“Well no, you’d have to take the power armour off-“

“Let me stop you there. The suit does not come off.” _Not to mention it wouldn’t fit me even if it did._

“C’mon! It’ll only be for a day. Don’t you wanna b-be the Silver Shroud? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

“Ay: fuck no. Do I look like a comic nerd?” Connolly opened his mouth but she cut him off, “don’t answer that. Bee: I never take the suit off. Ever. It’s kind of my thing.”

“You gotta take it off sometime, how do you go to the b-bathroom?”

“That’s a trade secret, but no, I do not. It’s kind of implied by the name.”

 Connolly looked crestfallen, visibly curling in on himself with disappointment. “Then all of this was for nothin’...”

She really could just go. She should probably just fucking go...

“Wait, maybe... maybe you _could_ be the Shroud.” _I’m really going to regret this. Hell, I already regret this._

“How? I’m not Shroud material. You said it yourself.”

“Well yeah, maybe not on your own... but...” she thought about it for a moment, wracking her brain for any idea that didn’t sound impossibly stupid. Sadly, she failed. “The Shroud had a butler, right? Harvey Blake?”

“Jarvey Blake.”

“Whatever. I’ll be your Harley Blake. You can use me as cover while you take on bad guys. That costume doesn’t offer any protection but if you stick behind me you should be fine.”

“You mean it?” Again he rebounded, straightening up and bouncing on the soles of his feet. The more he thought about it, the better the idea became to him and soon he was positively thrumming with energy.

“Just be careful about shit, yeah? I don’t wanna die because of this. Don’t take any stupid chances.”

“You got it!” Connolly’s bottom replied as he dug around in an old steamer trunk for various supplies. Suit got the feeling he’d stopped listening.

“Alright then... uh, I’ll go wait outside. You meet me out there when you’re done, yeah? And bring medical supplies with you.”

The murmuring reply was drowned out by the sound of junk being moved around hastily, and Suit gave up on talking to him anymore, leaving the room and trodding off to the entrance to wait.

***

It was a good half hour before Connolly came through the doors of the Memory Den dressed as the Silver Shroud. He looked pretty dapper if she had to admit, rolled-up pant legs notwithstanding. He seemed a little taller, a little more confident than when she’d first met him; a little less nerdy and just a bit more _manly_. In his hands he cradled a gleaming silver submachine gun. Machine guns were the _worst_.

“I hope you brought like, _five thousand rounds_ for that thing,” she pointed at it.

Kent looked down at his gun and did the clicky thing that made it work and also looked pretty neat (Suit was absolutely sure she’d never used an automatic weapon).

“I have as much ammo as I have... _justice_.”

 _..._ oh _biscuits._

She resisted the urge to double over, cackling in her suit where he couldn’t hear her. Was he going to put that accent on the whole time? This might actually turn out to be a real kick.

“Alright boss, the show’s yours. What’s our first job?”

“We’re off to speak to a miscreant b-by the name of... AJ,” Suit snorted to hard that her nose literally hurt. “This ne’er-do-well has been selling drugs to children. It’s time for him to face the wrath of... _The Silver Shroud!_ ”

And so off they went.

Goodneighbor wasn’t exactly sprawling, but Kent ( _the Shroud_ ) garnered quite a bit of attention in the short trek. Some of it was positive; mostly women who clearly thought he was adorable as she did. Some of it was a little derisive; mostly from the Watch, but who could rightly blame them. To his credit, Kent marched on through it all with that supreme comic book confidence, occasionally tipping his hat or giving a salute to people they passed. When they reached an alley that cut between a couple of the old warehouses, Kent stopped and turned to her.

“Alright,” and his demeanour momentarily dropped as they stood at the mouth to trouble. “Uh... how are we gonna do this?”

“Just go up and talk to the guy, I suppose? I mean he sells chems, he’s not going to open fire on everyone who stops by his alley.”

“Talk to the guy... okay. Yeah, we can do that... Okay. Okay!” Kent had to pull himself up by the shoulders, adjusting his hat and smoothing down his trench coat. “Alright Jarvey. Let’s go deliver some justice!”

Kent led the way and Suit followed close behind, her great stomping footsteps announcing their arrival before they even turned to see their target. There was not one man in the alley, but three; two of them carried guns however, so she recognised them as guards. The kiddy-chem business must have been profitable indeed if he could afford two guards on duty. The trio were curious about their presence and their hackles rose, though they waited to see what the pair had to say before becoming truly alarmed.

Kent stopped several paces from them and Suit took up position at his 5-o-clock, pointing at the two guards over his shoulder before jerking a thumb over hers. They looked to each other momentarily, one tightening his grip on his weapon, but at a firm shake of her head in response to that, they relented to their low chances against her power armour and, giving their boss an apologetic shrug, left the alleyway to just the three of them. The odds now firmly in their favour, Kent gained full control of his confidence, straightening up - in the seesaw of power, Mister AJ found his rapidly plummeting.

“Kent?” his suspicious eyes draped over (and up) to Suit, “big guy in the power armour. What’s goin’ on? Can I getcha somethin’?”

“Peddling p-p-poison to kids, are we? Today you face the wrath of the Silver Shroud, AJ!” he adjusted his submachine gun then to make a point, not that it even needed anymore adjusting.

For a moment all in the alley was quiet. AJ was eyeing Kent like he’d grown an afro, halfway on the verge between horror and amusement. It was almost funny how much that mixed expression looked like disgust. Suit stood silently to attention, unsure of how Kent was going to do this. Her only planned role had been to stand there anyway.

“Shit, Kent.” AJ rubbed a grimy hand down the front of his face, his worn features stretching down with it to leave the sockets under his eyes hollow and stretched. “Finally cracked, huh? I’m on the clock here, so unless you’ve come to do business get the hell outta my alley.”

As if on cue, Suit’s little urchin popped up round the corner with a jangle of caps, freezing in place when he spotted the altercation. Suit’s jaw dropped.

“Urchin! This is where you’ve been spending my change?” A quick mental tally of all the times she’d sent him as a runner even after she’d quit drinking revealed the possibility that she could have been feeding a pretty impressive habit.

Non-descript Urchin had the decency to look sheepish at that, furrowing his little body further into his tatty green parka and shrugging his shoulders innocently. “Only a little bit,” he replied sulkily.

“What the hell, Urchin! Don’t take drugs! You’re like, ten.”

“Why not? You do it.”

Suit flashed back to all the times she’d had Urchin in her front room waiting for a delivery, chems lying out in the open. What could she say to that?

“But I’m an adult, Urchin. My life is already over so it doesn’t matter with me.”

“Like that makes any difference! What do grown-ups have to do with me?” he bit back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and swaying unapologetically.

There was literally nothing Suit could say in reply to that. If he had an adult out there taking care of him he wouldn’t need to do half the odd jobs she’d sent him on. The only reason she gave him caps at all was because she assumed no one else would. Urchin was barely in his teens but given the opportunities available to him, his life was already over too...

“Well now I’m thoroughly fucking depressed,” she gave up.

“I got somethin’ for that,” AJ added helpfully, digging in his inner pockets. “I got some new candyfloss uppers right here.”

Suit’s hand was already stretched out before she could catch her own reaction, stood frozen with AJ’s satisfied grin, Urchin’s wide dark eyes and Kent’s disgust fixed firmly upon her. She drew it back and slammed it over her visor, thinking the minimum amount of decency here would be to not prove Urchin’s point while he was still watching, at least.

“Just get outta here, Urchin!” The kid scampered off back down the alley and out of sight, his worn shoes flapping at the soles and making an odd _fwip-fwip-fwip_ sound as he went running. “What are we even doing here, Kent?”

She’d phrased it as a genuine question, and it was not at all meant to be the order for attack, though perhaps Kent took it that way. He lifted up his gun, taking brief aim, and opened fire on AJ, hitting him a few times before the automatic judder sent his aim veering off course and into the wall. AJ stumbled back, his hands flying to his chest and sending his balance tipping him over onto the ground where he moaned incoherently – more in shock than panic.

“Dude! _Aim_ _better!_ ” She was freaking out now. She was seriously freaking out now. AJ groaned, shuddering on the ground as he began to haul himself up and come to his senses. “Why isn’t he dead Kent?!”

Kent fumbled, almost dropping his submachine gun. When he tried to keep hold of it, it accidentally went off; tiny tinsel bullets ricocheting harmlessly off her plating. “It’s a machine gun! It takes more than one bullet!”

AJ was on his feet now, small blood stains dotting over his blue jacket but otherwise no worse for wear. He was pulling out his pistol, obviously intent on repaying the kindness.

“Fucking _bug bites!”_ Suit grabbed AJ’s shoulder and shoved him back down on the ground where he landed with a _thud_ and a curse. Grabbing his gun, she hurled it away from him. “This is why I hate assault weapons. It takes like a thousand bullets to do anything! _Stay down!”_ she yelled at AJ who was once again trying to scramble up.

“Why the hell should I! What is wrong with you people?!”

“I don’t know!” she threw her arms up, stepping away from him for some air and bonking her head against the brick wall. “Why should he stay down, Kent? Why the fuck should he stay down?”

Kent looked mortified – as well he ought to. “I don’t know! I’ve never done this b-before!”

“Done what before? Dress up like a prick and assault somebody?”

“Yeah!” cried AJ.

“Hey! At l-least I’m tryin’!”

“Trying doesn’t mean shit when you’re _committing murder!_ ”

“Yeah!” cried AJ again.

Somewhere along the way, while she’d been too busy trying to duck out of any real responsibility, she’d forgotten to ask if Kent was actually even _capable_ of killing someone. His lack of armour aside, she’d completely overlooked his combat abilities.

“This has gone horribly wrong,” he murmured, all traces of the Shroud now vanished. While he seemed to have been feeding off her assurances of his safety, she had completely lost her shit and now this whole train had ground to a halt.

“Alright,” she pushed off the wall and turned around again, scanning the area for the gun she’d just thrown away. “Whatever. This is a cock-up, but the guy is still an asshole and no one will miss him when he’s gone so let’s just get this over with.”

“Hey! I resent that!” AJ yelled, waving his arms in front of him. “I got a legitimate business here! The hell else are those kids supposed to do all day? It’s not like they got television!”

“Y-you’re just doin’ it for the money, AJ! You can’t give chems to kids man, they’ll _d-die_!”

“Well I’m sure as shit not gonna sit here and let you shoot me, asshole.”

 “Maybe you could hold him still?” he asked Suit hopefully, “just while I get all the bullets in. I already got him once.”

 “What the fuck, Kent!” Her expression was so horrified she felt sure he could see it through the damn visor.

“Yeah man! What is wrong with you?” AJ cried, shuffling back and away from the madman.

“I’m not _holding someone down_ while you kill them! That is _messed up_!”

“Man, you are one sick puppy. I thought I was supposed to be the bad guy here?”

“You are the b-bad guy!” Kent looked distraught, not knowing what to do under their combined onslaught. “He’s sellin’ chems to k-kids, Suit! We can’t let him go on!”

“Oh my god. I can’t even-“ Suit picked up AJ’s pistol, and carried it away with her as she left the alley. Kent was torn between following her and letting their quarry escape, so he shuffled aimlessly on the spot, halfway between the pair of them.  She stopped at the entrance to the alley and flagged down one of the passing Watch, beckoning a guy in a filthy suit over to her and leading him back into the alleyway.

“The hell is goin’ on here, man?” the guard asked at the scene before him. AJ was still on his ass, though considerably less rattled at his impending death and more creeped out by Kent’s bumbling. Kent, to his defence, was looking thoroughly ashamed with a side of mortification.

“I honestly do not know,” she replied, covering her visor with her gauntlet. “I need you to watch this for me, okay? We clearly need help here.”

“What? Why should I-“

“Just watch this fuckery!” she cut him off with a bark; that and the confusing picture before him effectively silencing his refusal. “Watch _him_ especially, _god_ ,” she pointed specifically at Kent before she stormed off to the Third Rail, leaving behind perhaps the most awkward situation since the world ended.

***

Suit made her way down into the Third Rail to pick up MacCready, because if anyone did questionable shit for money, it was him. Ham had stopped hassling her at the bar once he’d been given the all clear to let her in whilst wearing the power armour. She made straight for the lower floor where business went on as usual. It was almost pointless that AJ up there existed, since Whitechapel had been known to stock chems under the bar for everyday sale. Maybe AJ could only do business if he targeted kids anyway - maybe this situation wasn’t any more or less fucked up than the whole world was in general.

On her way to the back room she spotted Mayor Hancock getting a change of scenery, doing his paperwork at a table in the corner. Magnolia had joined him to sip her water between sets, the pair of them chatting away quietly. She gave him a lazy salute as she walked on through, waving off his offer to join them, but returned momentarily after discovering MacCready’s usual spot vacant.

“Mister Mayor,” she gave a little bow and crooked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of MacCready’s usual hangout. “You seen soul-patch?”

“MacCready? Can’t say I have. Why? You goin’ to town?”

“I just... need him for something...” she drummed her fingers rigorously on her leg plates.

“Okay, well that’s not suspicious.” Hancock grinned, leaning forward in his seat like the cat that got the cream, waiting for her to spill the details.

She resisted, knowing she could never, ever live this down.

“MacCready’s gone out of town for a job, sugar,” Magnolia piped up, her finger sensuously running circles around the top of her glass (why was it only Magnolia that got clean glassware here?) “Said he was guarding a caravan down to Warwick.  He’ll be back in a few days, I imagine.”

“This can’t really wait a few days...”

“Alright,” Hancock interjected. “Sit. Spill. What have you done now?”

“I haven’t done anything!”

“Says every guilty guy ever.”

Magnolia had to stifle her chuckle with a hand, and upon adding to Suit’s discomfort had the grace to give up her seat, sashaying back over to her little stage without further ado. Suit sighed.

“Alright, I may have told Kent that he... um- he might have dressed up as the Silver Shroud and... uh...” _How to explain this?_ “Kent has... okay, I suppose I encouraged it a bit – but what could I do? He had the _eyes_ and that _stutter_ and he was all _sad_ and... uh...”

 Hancock’s eyes flashed dark; a throwback to the first conversation they’d had when the cat was barely caged. When he spoke, his voice was a low gravel scraped painfully across her soft flesh.

“Is Kent in trouble?”

Suit flinched; visibly flinched. “No! Well... no, I guess not. He’s not about to die or anything, we just...” she let out a heaving sigh and hung her head. “Kent wanted to dress up like the Shroud and take out bad guys, but he was gonna end up full of holes so I offered to come along and let him, I don’t know, stand behind me? For cover? Anyway, it turned out Kent is crap at killing people, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have the moral high ground here and I don’t like killing people anyway so we’re kind of stuck halfway through and I need MacCready to come tell him what to do. Or something.” The words tumbled out like an overturned catch of crabs, leaving a trail of _what-the-fuck_ as they skittered in every direction away from her. “I don’t know!”

“So let me get this straight,” he replied in a flat tone, though the corners of his toothy grin were tugging up and up and up on his face. “You... half-killed a guy? And-“

“Kent. And no. He’s not even nearly dead,” she went on before he could interrupt to ask what the actual problem was then. “It’s not as if we can say ‘Oh, sorry for shooting you a little bit. This was a silly mistake and we’ll just be on our way.’ “

Hancock was speechless. All he could do was stare into the face of her helmet with the biggest, brightest shit-eating grin; as if she’d given him a god damn gift voucher.

“...help.”

Hancock grabbed his hat and scraped his chair back loudly as he jerked up out of his seat.

“Now this I gotta see.”

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

 

Mayor Hancock was perhaps the only person left in the world whose opinion actually mattered to Suit, which made the short trip upstairs and through the streets back to the Alley of Shame somewhat uncomfortable. She was torn between leading the way and also trailing behind awkwardly, and this was not lost on Hancock.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said for her benefit. “How bad can it be?”

The situation had only worsened in her absence.

AJ, whose death was probably upon him (it was getting sort of confusing now) had chosen to spend his last moments utterly, ball-blazingly high, and had gobbled down a little bit of everything from his large assortment of flavourful chems. He was shirtless now, with a large upside-down smiley face painted on his chest in his own blood. He sat in the corner, smiling back at it. Neither Kent nor the watchman had noticed on account of the enthusiastic re-enactment Kent was performing of some episode of the Silver Shroud, and none of them noticed when Suit and Hancock came to a halt at the bend of the alley, taking the scene in. Suit didn’t even need to glance at Hancock to know he was enjoying this immensely.

They said nothing for several moments, because there was nothing one _could_ say about the situation they’d all found themselves in. Silently they watched, red burning shame travelling up the back of Suit’s neck, making her armour uncomfortably hot, her posture sagging in defeat. Hancock placed a hand gently on the side of her arm, his eyes still fixed ahead of him.

“Thank you,” he whispered tenderly, and because there was literally nothing else she could say, all Suit could return was: “You’re welcome.”

Several moments passed before, on a dramatic flourish, Kent spun round and saw the pair of them standing there.

“Oh! You’re b-back! An’ Mayor Hancock, you’re here too?”

“Kent, my man. You’re lookin’ sharp.” Hancock grinned, nodding to Kent’s costume and doing nothing to improve the situation whatsoever.

Kent looked down at his outfit, adjusting the front with fingers both nervous and pleased at the compliment. “Thanks! You know this is the genuine Silver Shroud costume? Suit got it for me.”

“Well ain’t that nice?” Hancock had his face on Kent, but his eyes roved to peer at Suit. She grumbled in her helmet where he couldn’t hear her. “So the big plan is finally in action, huh? I like it.”

“Wait, you knew about this?” Suit couldn’t help butting in. There were the occasional patrol routes that went not too far from Hubris, and Hancock had a team of scavengers on his payroll that he could have sent at any time. If he knew about this, then he’d purposely been holding out on Kent for the same damn reason Suit found herself tagging along on this ridiculous quest.

“I’m the Mayor. I know everything.”

While Suit highly doubted that, in this instance it seemed like she’d stepped straight into a pile of shit that everyone else in town had been tactfully avoiding for some time.  “Why didn’t you tell me when you bloody _waved me off_ to go do it?”

“Who am I to tell you what to do, man?” Hancock returned, beaming at her. “It’s a heavy road you walk, but I ain’t crushin’ your dreams.”

“Do you- do you- do you know how much effort I put into this?” she jabbed a finger in the air in front of him, then pointed at Kent like he wasn’t part of the conversation. “I battled a fucking horde!”

“And that’s great. Very heroic.”

“A horde. Of zombies. There was a mini boss and every- _wait._ What is he doing..?” When Hancock tilted his head inquisitively, Suit nodded him towards AJ’s corner, horror slowing creeping over her face. “...is he...”

AJ looked back at them, his pupils blown wide and a trail of spit running down his chin. His hand, which had been venturing south, continued unabated by the audience.

“No! No! _Dude!_ Do not wank in an alley! That is _terrible_!” Suit was aghast, but when she turned to the mayor for backup Hancock only doubled over against the wall, cackling into the brickwork. “C’mon AJ, stop! What is wrong with you?!”

Hancock’s cackling turned into a low whine in an effort to control himself; his fist was banging limply against the wall and tears welled up in his eyes.

“Hancock!” Suit was feeling a cocktail of shame, shock and embarrassment. Crazed gunmen, orcs, zombies and skinless dogs – a challenge, but not insurmountable. What the hell was she supposed to do with some guy jerking off in an alleyway? “Hancock, _Mayor Hancock,_ are you gonna help?!”

“Why?” he barked out, “he looks like he’s got it all figured out!”

“Damn it! Did you come here to laugh or were you going to fix this?”

“I can’t do both?”

“AJ, IF THAT HAND MOVES ANY FURTHER I WILL- I will... I’ll... _Mayor Hancock_ , _help._ ” Her rising hysteria must have crept through on the distortion because Hancock finally reigned himself in, pulled himself up and pushed off the wall to his feet proper.

“Alright, alright.” His necrotic eyes surveyed the scene once more, as if taking a final inventory of the madness delivered and present. Suit was back to bonking her head repeatedly on the wall. “Since Miss O’Hara here has his panties in a knot; Kent, explain what it is I’m lookin’ at here... ‘cause... I got nothin’.”

***

 

 

Once the situation had been explained Hancock quickly took over, and Suit was relieved to have passed the burden onto someone else. The guard was sent away and AJ’s hands had been taped together to stop him further encroaching on decency. That left the four of them crowded in the alley as Goodneighbor awoke.

“Alright, let’s get on with this. Folks’ll be out soon and I don’t want anyone seeing me here in this shit. AJ, you have been accused of the crime of selling chems to kids. Whatcha gotta say in your defence?”

“If you look at Daisy from behind, she is _hot._ ”

“Agreed. The court finds both you and Daisy guilty of said charges. The sentence for messin’ with the kids is death, for they are our future and whatnot.”

Hancock nodded to Kent, who brought up his machine gun to fire-

“Whoah, whoah! This is a bit slapdash, isn’t it?” Suit interrupted, causing Hancock to groan. “Is it really a crime? Was this decided beforehand or are you just making this up as you go?”

“Is it _really_ a _crime_?” Hancock flicked away the butt of his cigarette and eyed Suit, “did you really just ask me that? Are you really standing there tellin’ me that it’s okay to sell chems to kids?”

“I’m just...” she shrugged her arms, “... _maybe?_ ” Hancock was about to say something sharp, so she continued, “Look, _you_ take chems, _I_ take chems. Fuckin’ _everybody_ takes chems now, man. I know Charlie is selling chems over the counter at the bar.”

“But not _to kids!_ ”

“And why not to kids? You only have to walk ten paces in any direction before you come across something illicit anyway. Maybe it would be safer if they could just buy them, like everybody else, from a weird dude masturbating in an alley.”

“It would be safer if they didn’t take them at all,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, in a perfect world where nobody shot at you every time you looked west! Kids take chems for the same reason everyone else takes chems. Because they have _nothing else._ ”

“You’re over-thinking it, buddy,” Hancock had caught on early that over-thinking shit was one of Suit’s major issues. “If AJ wasn’t making chems available to kids, they wouldn’t have chems. They’d have to go back to, I don’t know, chasing rats and eating chalk or something.”

 _It was a fair statement._ “I don’t know, mayor... it still seems kind of ambiguous.”

“Look, we can stand around here all talkin’ about _great justice_ or we can actually do something.” Hancock looked to Kent, “so are you gonna use that shiny rifle for something or are we callin’ this off?”

Kent looked between the pair of them, and then back to AJ, who was fumbling unsuccessfully with the buttons on his trousers. Strewn haphazardly around his sloppy self were various empty chem containers, a pointed reminder of what they came here for. Kent steeled himself, adjusting his rifle and nodding to the mayor before taking aim.

“Wait!”

They both looked at Suit impatiently.

“You’re just going to... shoot him?”

“Well yeah, that was the idea.” Hancock glanced at Kent, “that _was_ the idea, right?”

Kent nodded.

“No,” Suit interjected, “I mean are you just going to shoot an unarmed man?”

Hancock shrugged, because he was a bastard. Kent had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Um... well he’s gonna d-die anyway.”

“I know _that_ , I’m just saying isn’t there like... some unspoken rule or something? I’m not big on duels or anything but I thought there was like, a Code?”

“This isn’t a duel, man. It’s a... public service.”

“Oh good. I’m glad you clarified, mayor, because it was starting to look a lot like murder.”

“It’s n-not murder! The guy is selling chems to _children_!”

“I didn’t say it _was_. I’m just saying it _looks_ like it. Just be sure to double check before you go doing something permanent.”

Hancock had to groan. Never before had a murder been so poorly thought out while still being so thoroughly discussed before, and he’d survived Diamond City. “Alright, Suit. _What_ is your problem here?”

“My problem is that I have no idea what’s going on anymore! My problem is that after this is over I’ll probably go over his corpse and take his merchandise, because _hey_ , _candyfloss uppers_. By all intents, I’m just committing a very slow robbery. I don’t know about you, Kent.” She turned to Hancock, “I don’t really care what you’re doing, though.”

Hancock snorted, but Kent made a complicated face, now unsure of whether he was about to become an accessory to a mugging rather than the hero he’d always dreamed of being. 

“You wanna do this? Fine. But if you shoot an unarmed man point blank, that’s an execution. It’s _murder_. If you want to play the hero so badly shouldn’t you at least let him participate in his own episode?”

“Oh man, is this about honour?” Hancock asked giddily, “I had some of that once.”

“Did you,” Suit monotoned. “Did you really.”

“But I don’t think it counts as honour if you hide behind it all the time.”

“That’s-“

“If you never put it on the line, it’s not even honour, is it? It’s just neutral morality.”

“It’s like, 9am. Are you high already?”

“Haven’t been to bed yet.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, all I’m sayin’ is if you never do anything to back up that honour, you might as well not even have it.”

“As far as I’m aware he’s not even doing anything illegal - we don’t even have laws anymore. It’s just...  morally wrong, for reasons I can’t even properly justify at that. That makes this a difference of opinion, and you can’t execute a man for disagreeing with him.”

“Sure you can!” Hancock exclaimed, “that’s how it works! Someone wants to take your stuff – you disagree with them, bam! Someone wants you dead? You disagree with that! Bam! That’s all killing is.”

“Ugh, no! That is self defence.”

“Defence of Self and Self’s way of life, brother,” he jerked a thumb at AJ, “defence against someone offending my Self by sellin’ chems to kids on my damn streets.” Hancock turned to look at Kent, giving him a confirmatory nod. “Don’t let his witchcraft confuse you, man. Justice is about doin’ what you think is right. You think this is right, Kent?”

Kent nodded nervously, his eyes flicking from Hancock to Suit and back again, as if this was all a complicated test and he was hoping one of them would give him a hint.

“AJ thinks he’s right,” Suit countered.

“So then it all comes down to the difference of opinion!”

Suit clenched her fists and turned in a complete circle in an effort to stave off stamping her feet in frustration. Hancock threw his arms up for the same reason.

“Why are you making this so hard? I saw you kickin’ ass the other day! You had no problem puttin’ down mutants but we get to selling chems to kids and _this_ is where you draw the line? What is going on under your helmet, man?”

“Mutants aren’t people, Mister Mayor. They’re just very big angry green things that want to kill everything and eat everything. That’s different. It’s putting down a rabid animal.”

“Folks over at Diamond City say I’m not a person either.”

Suit’s jaw snapped shut with a loud _clack!_ It then opened and closed again repeatedly as she tried to form words to even start approaching that sentence. The result was something akin to a goldfish.

“...really?” she murmured out at Hancock’s now-impassive face, “you’re really going there?” When he didn’t reply she threw her hands up. “Are you saying I _shouldn’t_ fight mutants?”

“I’m saying you should fight _everything._ You don’t have the luxury of picking and choosing your enemies, ‘cause the moment you turn around because it’s not _written out for you_ , they’re gonna put a bullet in your back.”

“My back is covered in a nigh-impenetrable metal alloy.”

“But mine is not.”

For a moment, everyone in the alley was silent. Kent shuffled from foot-to-foot, adjusting the lapels of his costume. Hancock stared into the pitch visor of Suit’s helmet, as if daring her to say anything else. She couldn’t, of course, Hancock was right. Just because _she_ was safe, it didn’t mean that the job was done. Aside from getting everyone in the Commonwealth a set of power armour, if you wanted to keep the streets safe you had to become a dangerous thing yourself.

It was a choice. Step up for what was ‘right’, or walk away.

“You know what, _whatever._ This is getting way too complicated. You guys can do whatever you want,” Suit shrugged her shoulders and took steps backward in the direction of the main street. “I wasn’t gonna kill anyone anyway. I came along to make sure _he_ didn’t get shot,” she jabbed a finger in Kent’s direction. “I’m gonna go stand out there; you guys can finish this. Next time let’s do something less grey-area.”

Suit chose to walk away.

***

When Hancock and Kent left the alley a few minutes later, Suit didn’t bother to mention the single heavy gunshot she’d heard echoing round the corner behind her.  _Not my business._

“Well,” Hancock eyed her, “that was a mess.”

“B-but at least AJ won’t be sellin’ chems to k-kids anymore.” Kent looked nervous, now faced with a possibly-irate Suit. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine. And yes, that was... not ideal.” _To put it mildly._ “But it’s done now, right. So Kent, are you happy? Do you feel heroic? Are we done here?” Suit had to fight to keep the irritation from rising in her voice. It wasn’t Kent’s fault that she was bitter – not really. A small niggling thought in the back of her mind told her that she’d caved too easily, that she hadn’t thought about it enough, hadn’t fought about it enough. But it was over now. AJ was dead and she’d walked away because arguing her point further wasn’t worth the effort. She would have been a terrible lawyer.

“Yeah. We’re d-done here. I left a calling card so people will know who did it.”

“I think people are going to know who did it.”

“As the Shroud! So when they see they’ll know there’s a hero l-lookin’ out for them.”

From behind her visor, she saw Hancock’s eyes flicker up to her momentarily. He gave her a weak lopsided grin and she snorted, holding her plated fist over where her mouth would be.

“Alright, alright. _Great Justice_ has been done for the day, and it’s barely past breakfast.”

“That’s some good goin’, Kent,” Hancock grinned, clapping him on the back.

“Thanks for coming, guys. I r-really appreciate what you did for me... even if it wasn’t quite like I imagined.”

“It never really is,” Hancock chuckled. “You should come by the Rail later, drinks are on me. Bring the costume, I’m sure there’ll be some grateful citizen or other that wants to thank you _personally_ for all your hard work.”

The two men shared a laugh and then parted: Kent back to the Memory Den and Hancock to whatever suspect activity he had planned for the day. Suit excused herself to return to work. She hadn’t done any real tasks in days and something was probably about to explode somewhere.

***

Suit padded about town, catching up on all those odd jobs that Goodneighbor apparently had no one else covering before she came. Certain things she could understand, like the stripped wiring to the less-used buildings in town, or upgrades shirked in favour of shoring up existing defences, but _how long has that motor been giving off sparks?!_

By the time she was finished it was well after dark, late enough that even Daisy was no longer minding her store, and Suit began the dawdling trip back to her dirty dank pit, so-called because her light bulbs had been giving out one after the other and now only half her work room and the glow given off by a small lamp in her bedroom actually worked. She should just change them. She really should, but... _meh_.

Truth be told, every day she woke up she told herself that she’d sort out that damn hovel, and every day she found a new reason to put it off. Boxes were stacking up, piles of junk balanced precariously against the walls, wires trailed like snakes across the floor, but _sorting out_ meant _moving in_ and that meant evaluating the state of her life. She was sure she wasn’t ready for that set of questions. Suit currently existed in some sort of hazy ennui; a permanent state of _whatever_ where nothing made sense and thinking about it only made it more confusing... so she didn’t think about it. She just fell back on what she _did_ know, and that was that shit needed fixing. Turrets, terminals, wiring, (society _– don’t think about it!_ ). It was a wonder Goodneighbor hadn’t burned already.

Suit had spent the majority of the day kicking turrets and dropping terminals, and now trying to get one of the old generators up and running again. It was dull, thoughtless work that involved putting various-shaped objects into various-shaped holes until something happened, but the way some people watched and whistled, or asked the dumbest questions, made it seem like astrophysics. She supposed it was to be expected. There were no colleges here, no courses you could take. If you learnt a trade it came as an apprentice, and a master had little room for those. You’d be lucky if you learnt how to count past your caps these days. Maybe that was the problem? If the kids knew how to do other stuff they wouldn’t be so crap at everything else all the time. Maybe people would stop asking her to fix their radios, too. Some kind of communal school course, that‘s what the people needed.

_It’s something to think about, at least._

So distracted by that thought and also preoccupied with a sudden hankering for chippy chips was she, that Suit almost missed the sad abandoned pile of garbage littering the pavement in front of the Rexford; a crumpled red lump that despite its size managed to dirty even more an already hopelessly filthy place, and on closer inspection turned out to be her deviant mayor, wallowing like a pickle in his own alcoholic blood content. It must have been a pretty enthusiastic night if the noises he made when she nudged him with her great steel boot were anything to go by.

Eventually her ministrations roused him nearer to consciousness, and Hancock uncurled himself, stretching out on the pavement with a cracking of his joints. Rubbing at his eyes, he blinked blearily up into her visor with a grimace.

“Don’t judge me. This is a no judgement zone.”

He sounded like he’d been dragged backwards through a landfill – kind of looked like it, too.

“I wouldn’t presume,” she replied, snickering, and she stared down at him with a mix of pity and amusement. This was precisely the reason she gave up drinking for chems; less immediate punishment. “You know, you can’t stay here in the gutter.”

“Why not? S’where I always figured I’d end up.”

That comment sure took her by surprise, and she stood there blinking obtusely at him. Granted, she’d only known him for a few months, but he was the person she was closest to in, well, the _whole world_ , so discovering this large a personality trait this late in the game was a little disorientating. She knew he was a little iffy about his skin problems, but aside from proper civilisation and the ability to not sleep with everyone, she’d figured Hancock had pretty much everything a wastelander could ever want.

“Annnd you’ve apparently reached the crying-on-the-steps level of drunk,” _Oh dear._ “You’ve been drinking gin, haven’t you?”

The way his face scrunched up when she said that was all the confirmation she needed.

“C’mon. I’ll take you home.” Reaching down she offered him a hand, then when he didn’t move used it to shake his shoulder gently.

“Myeh, get off me ya big tin can! I’m delicate,” he tried to fight her off, his arms flailing weakly until he gave up.

“So you are,” she said, crouching down until her knees touched the pavement. She couldn’t really kneel in plating, but it did bring her closer to his current height. “I can’t just leave you here Hancock. I have a vested interest in you not being murdered.”

He looked out from under the crook of his arm at her, one eye warily open.

“No one else will put up with my shit.”

At that he snorted, and making up his mind, took great effort to sling his arm out to the side, stretching his bony fingers. When Suit realised this was all the movement he was capable of, she took up his hand and slid her other arm underneath his back, sitting him up. He almost toppled forward with a groan but she braced his chest to keep him steady. He appeared to be fully leaning on her hand. She had been intending to lend him an arm and help him stagger home, but she doubted if he even realised he _had_ feet right now, so tipping him back, she moved her hand from his chest to under his knees. He was light, but then so was she, so they could both be thankful that her power armour could handle the load as she lifted him up and, perhaps not as gently as she could, slung him over one shoulder. His forehead impacted with her back with a _thunk_ and more groaning, and his hat fell to the floor, interrupting his protests as he fussed about it. She picked it up with her free hand.

“Alright mister mayor, where to?”

The only reply she got was a mumbled string of vague curses.

“...Statehouse it is.”

The mumbling turned insistent.

“...is that a no?”

Agreeable mumbling.

“...are you in the Rex?”

Disagreeable mumbling.

“Then where?”

Incoherent mumbling.

“Is Timmy down the well, boy?” She rolled her eyes impatiently, “is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

There was a sarcastic snort, followed by whining at how loud his own nose had been.

“Lemme crash on your couch.”

It was a shorter distance from where they were, and no one was like to disturb his recovering there, so Suit agreed and set off for her place, taking a route most likely to be deserted at this time of night.

“Easy Brutus,” he moaned at her pace, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m gonna puke.”

“Considering the state of the hangover you’ll have tomorrow, that may be advisable.”

“I’m gonna puke _on you._ ”

“There’s no one to see, kitten, puke away,” she sighed.

He hung over her shoulder, feeling the bounce of her every step. His arms were hanging loosely down and the taste of bile crept up ( _or down_ ) his throat. His eyes were scrunched tight against the ambient light of the moon shining on the pavement below him and if he opened them, he’d only see Suit’s giant metal ass anyway. The pounding in his skull felt like a behemoth was stamping around in there and he felt as dead as he looked, but still... that made him smile.

***

By the time Suit reached her pad Hancock had made good on his word, and as she dropped him off on the ratty old sofa she went into the back rooms to find a bucket for if he threw up again.

“Okay, here’s your bucket. Try to avoid throwing up on the couch, there are enough dubious stains on it already. Also, here’s some water...” she trailed off, looking down at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Hancock eyed her from beneath his hand.

“Nothing,” she replied, “I’m just trying to remember if I’m supposed to put you in some kind of special position? So you don’t choke on your own tongue in your sleep or something. Is that a thing?”

“Well it’s never happened before, but I’m not opposed to _special positions_.” At her continued fretting he smirked, “I’ll be fine, mom. Just... bring me some med-x or something.”

“At this point I think adding even med-x will just make you feel worse. The damage is done, man. You’re just gonna have to come out the other side.”

He groaned at that, but Suit was likely correct, and ultimately arguing would be a waste of time. “At least do something about that lamp light. I think my brain is melting.”

“I can’t. There’s a fucking hole in my wall.”

He grumbled, swore and attempted several positions to minimise the light creeping through the damage in the front wall. It was a lost cause and also the main reason Suit kept everything locked up in the inner rooms instead of using the lounge. Eventually he gave up, and with great effort clung to the back of the sofa, pulling himself up. Suit watched him, not offering a hand as he hauled himself over the thin plush ledge and dropped unceremoniously onto the hard concrete floor behind it with a meaty thud, causing her to jolt and lean over to look at him.

“Bring the bucket.”

Suit fussed and retrieved it from the floor, also grabbing the can of purified water and a cushion from off the couch, which she placed behind him when he shuffled up against the wall. The tarnished metal bucket went between his knees and he doubled over it, thumbs hooked over the edge. Carefully, she manoeuvred herself down on the floor next to him, legs stretched out in front of her in the only real position a set of power armour could sit for any length of time.

“Must have been some bender you were on,” she remarked, looking away politely as he hurled into the bucket. “What happened to Kent?”

“Eh, I ‘unno. He’s around somewhere, left early,” he rasped, spitting into the bucket.

Suit didn’t need to ask why Hancock had been in the Rexford; he most likely ended up there with someone from the bar, but she didn’t have a clue what happened in between going to the hotel and ending up outside in the dirt. With the way he was breathing, hard and ragged and strained whenever he stopped throwing up long enough to, Suit didn’t think she even wanted to know.

“And you carried on without him.”

“I just felt like cuttin’ loose, y’know?”

Suit didn’t reply, instead wishing she’d thought to bring him a piece of cloth to wipe his mouth on. He made do with his ruffled sleeve and she watched morosely as she knew the smell would still be clinging to him come morning.

“An’ then I got to thinking... about today. About AJ. About what you said with the whole ‘not executing’ people thing... and I mulled it over for a while, you know, gave it a little thought, an’ I guess I just wanna say... that you need to get your shit together.”

_Excuse me?_

“... this coming from the man whose vomit is drying on my fusion cover?”

“It’s not about the vomit-“

“It’s very much about the vomit.”

“No, it’s about you flaking out halfway through your business with AJ.” Hancock moved the bucket from between his knees and leaned to set it down somewhere away in the darkness before adjusting the couch pillow and propping himself up against the wall.

Suit huffed indignantly once he was settled. “I didn’t _have_ any business with AJ. I was just making sure Kent didn’t die.”

“So you knew what Kent wanted to do? That he was going to shoot a guy?”

“Well, yeah,” she admitted awkwardly, glancing guiltily to her right.

“And you were okay with that?”

“I suppose I was.”

“And if Kent had gone after some random drifter...” he didn’t need to phrase it as a question, but it did needle.

“Well of course I wouldn’t be okay with _that_ ,” she bristled. “I wouldn’t let Kent shoot some random person.”

“So you _did_ think that AJ deserved the bullet...” he said with a note of wonder, as if he had suspected it but the piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place for him. “Then why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“I...” she trailed off.

“You came running for MacCready.”

“Well it had gotten kind of complicated by that point.”

“What was complicated about it?” She didn’t reply, so he pressed on. “You thought he deserved to die; you’d already started. All you needed to do was take that submachine gun and do it yourself. Why didn’t you?”

Suit licked her dry lips, swallowing as she tried to formulate an answer that would satisfy him. It was hard to explain, that ice-cold feeling she got when a life was in her hands. It wasn’t just the primal adrenaline that spiked in stressful situations, or simple fear, it was something else... it was like...

“I can’t even use stickers, man” she blurted out. “Once you put them down, _that’s it_. Forever. You can’t peel the sticker off and put it somewhere else. Where you put the sticker down is where it stays permanently, never moving. Just that one spot. You get one chance.”

“...annnd the sticker is AJ,” he guessed unenthusiastically.

She snorted, shaking her head. “The sticker is AJ. Death is so... permanent. I don’t do permanent – I don’t do one hundred percent, I don’t do _sure things_. You never know what’s going to happen until it happens. You never know what somebody’s going to do until they _do it_... unless they’re dead. Then, y’know, _you know_.”

Hancock shook his head in disbelief, but he didn’t appear to be upset with her dumb explanation. “C’mon Suit. He was selling chems to kids... you really wanna see where he was goin’ from there?”

“No... I know. But at least he was _making_ something. He was doing something innovative.” She felt Hancock shuffle next to her, about to say something, and she reached over and rested a heavy gauntlet atop his head to cut him off, her words spilling over, desperate to get out of her system. “Hancock, all we ever do is patch up. We use broken shit to fix other broken shit, but it’s still the _same shit_. We’re not making anything _new_. We’re not going anywhere and I don’t know...why we stopped moving.”

“Aww, kiddo,” Hancock chuckled, not unkindly, though it seemed couldn’t help himself. Suit bristled against his side and he felt it, because as she tried to pull away he leaned in, his hand on top of her hand, pinning it down. She couldn’t feel it, not through her plating, but when she tried to move his fingers locked onto her wrist. He sighed wistfully though she couldn’t see his face. She’d switched off her optical overlay to enjoy the darkness. “That’s one of those things we all ask ourselves at some point or another.”

_Oh... I suppose you do._

She’d only been here a few months, but Hancock, he was well-and-truly part of the Commonwealth. He lived and breathed radiation. He saw the cracked earth and the green skies and probably couldn’t even remember what they looked like on a rare summer day. She shuddered out a breath in the darkness, the moment becoming too intimate to stand, and with a nudging tug of her hand, Hancock released her wrist.

“I’m not a child, Hancock,” she huffed, not noticing in the pitch black that as she brought her hand down to rest on the floor, Hancock’s smallest finger hooked over hers. “I’m like, thirty.”

“You’re like thirty?” he snorted, “How like thirty?”

_Stupid Mentats._

“Ugh. Let’s just say I’ve lost track of birthdays recently.”

That seemed to placate him, and for a while they sat in silence, relaxing in the black together. Enough time had passed that she suspected Hancock had fallen asleep, and moving might have woken him back up to his headache so she remained still, though she noticed her legs falling asleep and when she tried flexing her bare toes inside her boots, she hissed as they prickled back at her.

“Why’d you leave the vault?” came a voice in the dark.

The rest of her body had begun to fall asleep too; it had been a long day. She shuffled at the sound before replying exhaustedly, “Vault?”

“It’s kinda obvious, man,” in the shadows he opened up the can of water, and so quiet was Goodneighbor that she could hear the muscles working in his throat as he drank it. “The whole _no killing_ thing, the _sharing_ thing, the _privacy_ thing, the _mystery meat_ thing, the _not giving a fuck about anything while caring about everything_ thing... Jones had you pegged the minute he met you. I saw it the day after.”

_He makes a good point. Well, he always makes a good point. Then again he’s always on Mentats and I’ve been slowly replacing all of my blood with Calmex._

At her silence, Hancock continued, “It’s not a bad thing, man! I’m not shaming you or nothin’. Those are actually pretty good traits to have, y’know? It’s just... it makes it kinda obvious, is all.”

She thought back to when she woke up, naked in the forest. No vault suit, so there was that mystery. She also had a Pip-Boy, which, as far as she knew, was only given to members of vaults... Still, if she had come from a vault then why? Why-why-why? Why was she out in the forest with nothing? Why couldn’t she remember being in a vault? Where was everyone else from the vault? Her family? Had they kicked her out? Also, why? Why on earth would _anyone_ go in a vault? You had to _share_ them with other people.

“Vaults are for poor people, Hancock. I was never poor.”

“...I don’t even know what that means,” he whispered after a long pause.

“Whatever,” she didn’t either. “I’m pretty sure I never lived in a Vault.”

“Pretty sure?”

_Fucking Mentats._

“How’s your head?” she asked, because _please god stop talking about this._

“How old are you?” he switched, and Suit realised that she might have walked into a very bad situation.

“...thirty.”

“How old are you?” he repeated, all the inflection gone from his voice. He didn’t sound suspicious of her, or angry, or even _interested_. Just... functional.

“I told you, thirty.” _don’t-don’t-don’t-don’t-_

“Where’d you come from?”

“Hancock...” she pleaded, because even this small level of consideration was starting to give her a headache. She could feel the dull ache begin to pound behind her eyes, a prelude to the static. Unfortunately, the damn sound distortion that she _chose_ to put in her helmet managed to cut all the emotion from her voice.

“Before you came here, where were you?” he continued, perfectly calm and unrelenting.

“...I lived in a Red Rocket Station.”

“And before that?”

“Somewhere else,” Suit snapped, staring at the floor between her outstretched legs. “What is with all these questions?”

“What’s under this?”

Suit froze, her breath catching in her throat. “I don’t know what you...“ she trailed off. He hadn’t indicated to anything in particular but she knew what he had to be asking and it had come right out of the fucking blue for her. Without turning her head, Suit’s eyes flitted in his direction, trying to think of a way to extricate herself from this situation. He was out of her viewing range but she couldn’t bring herself to actually turn her head, as if pretending she didn’t understand what he meant would make this go away, as if he’d forget about it if she remained still and made no sound...

“Take it off,” Hancock demanded.

Suit had to fight to draw breath in through her clenching teeth, her eyes snapping shut. As always when she encountered a situation she was unprepared for, she felt the cold, hot, heavy unease rake its way around her throat, making it hard to breathe and even harder to defend herself. Despite having spent more time with him than anyone else, even MacCready, Hancock had yet to express anything more than a passing curiosity for what was under the armour. She’d become complacent, thinking Hancock was too hip to care about irrelevant things like that. She’d let herself become so comfortable around him that she almost forgot she was wearing it. She’d been letting her guard down piece by piece and only now did she remember that knowing someone _best_ didn’t mean she actually _knew_ them.

In her frightened contemplation Suit didn’t register that Hancock had moved beside her, turning his body to face her. She realised he was watching her; she couldn’t see his face and he said nothing, but he was still and staring, waiting for something that Suit wasn’t capable of. Moments ticked by, unmarked in the passage of the night, and then he lunged at her, _on_ her, with alacrity she wouldn’t have thought him capable of in his present state. He moved so quickly she didn’t register what had happened until he’d straddled her legs and brought his face close to her visor, staring through the blackened glass at her with such intensity that she almost believed he could see her. Suit jolted with a squeak, stunned. She had never seen Hancock like this before. From the moment she met him she’d been aware that he was dangerous; a wolf, she’d called him, and here she’d literally carried him into her home. There was definitely a cautionary fable in there somewhere, but Suit was far too shocked to find it. At first she was afraid; that natural fear all women carry around men, locked away but ready to be brought out at only a moment’s notice. It was over in a heartbeat though, when she remembered that she wasn’t even really a woman anymore, just some near non-entity in a giant set of armour. A giant set of armour that could _withstand grenades_. Hancock was strong, but not _that_ strong, and then it seemed to her that he wasn’t even trying to hurt her anyway. His hands were grasping at the layers of her helmet, feeling along the details and panelling, trying to find some way to remove it. That wasn’t possible, but he wasn’t trying wholeheartedly either - she didn’t know _what_ he was doing.

“Hancock, stop!”

“Take it off.” Hancock continued to fumble with her helmet but he was too uncoordinated to even get a decent hold. Though he bore his teeth his expression was one of utter, faraway defeat; he looked like a man on the edge of breaking; like a man drowning, desperate to break the water and breathe, not caring in what direction he was swimming so long as he _was swimming_.

Suit didn’t know what to do. Suit didn’t know how to help. Hancock was her friend – her _only_ friend. Once the fear was gone she could see his aggression for what it truly was – he was hurting, and like any wounded animal he was lashing out. The realisation made her feel massively uncomfortable, as if she’d discovered a secret not meant for her. This was _Hancock_. He was strong, tough and resourceful... _respected_. _She_ respected him. Hancock was always in the know, always had things under control. To watch him breaking down felt obscene. The raw hurt was too much, and she grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from her faceplate, gripping tighter when he struggled, cursing his ridiculous strength.

“Han- John! Stop!” she broke into a yell, and he did, snapped out of hysteria at the sound of his own name and the fingers she dug painfully into the bones of his wrist. “...just stop.”

Hancock stopped clawing at her, the fight leaving him as suddenly as it appeared. His whole body went boneless and he slumped against her, pressing his pained forehead to the cool metal of her face plate, where they remained perfectly still and waited while the heavy labour in their breathing returned to normal and the shock wore down.

“I remember my first real kill,” he eventually said, so quietly. His voice was laced with defeat, his words ghosting over her visor in a fine condensation. “I think everybody does.”

Suit huffed, relieved that he’d calmed down, and she felt it was safe enough to let go of his hands cautiously. Without her supporting them, Hancock let them drop limp to his sides.

“I mean y’always see death,” he continued without prompting. “Blood, guts and gore, the whole works. Everybody’s seen someone die– usually someone they liked, but, there ya go,” he gave a derisive snort. “But one day – and it always comes – one day... you make your first real kill. Now I ain’t talkin’ potshots here. I’m talkin’ real, honest-to-god, look-a-man-in-the-eye and _decide_ to take his life killing.” He shuddered against her, drawing in a ragged breath. “An’ anyone who says they haven’t is either lying or dead.”

Suit clenched her fingers uselessly into the powdery concrete of the old floor, watching Hancock’s face so very close to hers, so very open and full of resignation that it made her heart ache. Whereas only moments ago she’d been grateful to her suit, now all she could feel was the few inches of space and steel between Hancock and herself, stretching like a desert between them. Suit had never truly felt the full weight and encapsulation of her power armour until this moment. She felt her breath quicken and realised just how long it had been since someone had last touched their skin to hers – an actual lifetime. Did she miss it? Did she even want that? She had to swallow down the tremors at once. It wasn’t right to be reacting this way, for several different reasons: firstly because Hancock was her friend, and that’s what he needed her to be right now, and secondly because he was a walking corpse and there were _actual laws_ against it that made things kind of weird. She composed herself, forcing her voice to remain neutral.

“What was yours?”

“Nah, that ain’t how this works,” he rolled his forehead side-to-side along her cool visor, both soothing his headache and shaking his head as he smiled ruefully in the darkness. “That’s information you gotta earn, and you ain’t earned it.”

_And the only way to earn it is to get my shit together._

She sighed, heavily, and then allowed her back to rest against the wall proper. Hancock felt the movement and then with dazed surprise, realised perhaps for the first time the actual position they were in. His eyes closed and took a moment to compose himself, drawing in a deep breath through his nose and rolling off her on the exhale. In a single, awkward jerking moment, he’d returned to his original position next to her, back against the wall and looking out at nothing. He was closer than before, though, leaning tired against her left side.

“See... you won’t take the shot ‘cause you think you’ll regret it, ‘cause you got some weird temporal shit goin’ on or whatever. It was fine today, but if you don’t prepare yourself you’re not gonna live to even see that future.”

Was Hancock giving her the apocalyptic edition of _The Talk_? Is this what parents had to tell their kids here? ‘ _One day, my son, you’ll have to bite back the empathic pain in your own gut when you slide a knife into the belly of the man in front of you, through the leather and the thin yellow fat to the red underneath; you’ll feel him run warm and wet over your hands and you’ll have to live with the fact that for a single moment, when his blood covered your skin like satin, there was something intimate between you two. P.S._ _Pull out._ ’ It wasn’t fair. No one should have to live like that. As an outsider looking in, Suit had the benefit and burden of understanding what it was they’d lost, and she felt so... _selfish_ ; that she alone knew the innate feeling of not living in fear; that there were kids who had been denied that right, and she had failed to stand up for them in defence of her own pathetic comfort. All because she’d regret it. Because she couldn’t make it through that one second that it took to squeeze the trigger. Because she knew what it would feel like and she could never imagine _choosing_ to go through that.

“You know...” at her silence Hancock continued quietly, “of all the kills I could regret... it’s the one I walked away from that haunts me most.”

Suit said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“You heard ghouls aren’t allowed in Diamond City.”

“Jones told me, yeah.”

“Well it was my own brother that kicked ‘em out.” He snorted, amused when Suit tried to whip her head around to peer at him. “Yep. My own damn brother.”

“How did your brother kick all the ghouls out?”

“He’s the mayor of Diamond City. When he went for election he ran his campaign on ‘mankind for McDonough’. Told everyone he’d have the ghouls kicked out if they voted for him, and you know, those bastards actually went and did it.”

Hancock had a brother? And he was the asshole mayor of the only other town she’d heard of? And they had a tragic Shakespearean relationship divided by politics and bonded by blood? _Damn._ She really did know nothing at all about this man.

“I knew what was coming... I kept hoping that the people would come to their senses...” Hancock shook his head sadly. “Most of those ghouls had been there years. Some of them we knew growing up. Then one day... they just turned on them.” 

Suit didn’t know what to say. Her chest felt constricted when she thought of how painful that must have been for him, and the only words she could think of all sounded condescending, so she turned her head back to the room and listened quietly.

“I went to his office after his big inauguration speech. He didn’t even look at me. Just stood there, watching the whole city turn into a fucking lynching.” He spat the end of his sentence, a barely audible growl carrying through on the undercurrent of his voice. “I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I shoulda shot that rat bastard back at the beginning, when the words ‘anti-ghoul’ first came out of his damn mouth. Instead, I waited. Sat on my ass and hoped. Kept thinking ‘what if’, and ‘maybe’, and now that fuck’s still alive, but those ghouls...” he trailed off on a sigh, the specifics not needing to be said.

Friends one moment and enemies the next – mob mentality, the hive-mind human equivalent, it was a terrifying thing. Humans weren’t a threat by themselves, but when banded together, where a single evil thought could spread like a disease, they could be devastating. To witness that first-hand, to watch his community tear itself apart, to watch half his friends turn into monsters and the other half thrown out into the wastes to die, to see his home crumble... all in one day, and all because of his brother... and then to blame himself for that and carry it with him every day... as if not being able to kill his own brother was somehow _wrong_.

“I did it John. S’finally mine...” he mumbled to himself quietly, and Suit wondered what that meant.

“So your own brother exiled you?” she asked tentatively.

“Hm? Nah, I didn’t become a ghoul until, huh, ‘bout ten years ago.” He slid himself down the wall, shuffling into a more comfortable position now that his poison was spent and exhaustion began to take over. He pulled the pillow down onto the floor with him, resting his head on it, facing away from Suit. “I mean I didn’t _have_ to leave Diamond City. I just couldn’t stay there after what they did.”

That was fair. Suit wasn’t sure she could have stayed either, knowing that every face she saw was the face of a monster, just waiting for a crowd and an excuse to lash out at anything near it. It wasn’t a wonder that Hancock felt some guilt over it, as irrational as it was, she’d seen the way he cared about his people... Still, it wasn’t his fault; the only way it could have been was if he’d voted for his asshole brother, and she knew he hadn’t. She wanted to tell him that, but she doubted he’d appreciate it, or that he hadn’t heard it a dozen times before. Guilt didn’t work that way. It wasn’t a rational thing. If Hancock carried this around with him, nothing she could say would change that. She felt helpless, burdened by this new secret knowledge and not being able to do anything about it. Hancock must have felt helpless back then, too, and regretted it ever since. All because he couldn’t kill someone.

“There are too many good folks not willing to get their hands dirty, not willing to do what needs to be done, and too many assholes taking advantage of that,” Hancock mumbled, barely awake enough to get the words out. “You’re a good guy, Suit - weird, but good. I don’t know what paradise you came from, but out here you’re gonna have to get your hands dirty eventually.”

He was right. Of course he was right. She knew that, knew she couldn’t live in an apocalyptic wasteland without fighting for it, without _becoming_ it. That’s why she put the suit on in the first place, wasn’t it? Because she didn’t want to die, but she also didn’t want to kill, she thought if she could just weather it through... but deep down she knew it was just avoidance. It couldn’t last forever. No plan worked perfectly, nothing was a _sure thing_ , and the longer you put things off, the worse they would eventually become.

It was yet another thing she needed to think about, among the many revelations of that evening. This had been the most intimate conversation she and Hancock had ever had. Normally they spoke only of light topics, inconsequential things that never gave up much. She’d been hiding so long she was starting to forget that she was doing it at all. It was no wonder Suit barely knew him; real conversation needed at least two people to work and she’d been refusing to meet him halfway. No one would volunteer themselves to someone who apparently didn’t care enough to return the kindness... unless they were drunk and cranky and just needed to vent at something, that is.

She was left with a lot of new questions that needed answering, but now was definitely not the time. Hancock was down for the count, smooshed into his floor pillow where he snored gently. For a while she hunkered down, dozing fitfully in her armour only to wake each time for no reason, then listening intently to check if he was still breathing. Eventually she gave up on sleeping, tired though she was, and quietly got up to find something to do.

When Hancock woke a few hours later, he rolled over only to be blinded looking directly into the torch on Suit’s helmet, jerking back into the shadow with a hiss, like some vampiric lush. His eyes adjusted to the beam of light shining down, filled with dust motes and illuminating some complex metal band she was working on. She looked to him briefly before returning to her work. Hancock had remarked once that he generally found her tinkering quite relaxing; something about it being skilful and repetitive, and she’d supposed it wasn’t like he had anything better to do so she tended to gravitate towards those tasks when he was around. For a while he watched her hands, drifting on the line between dreams and wakefulness, and it wasn’t long before his eyelids grew heavy again.

 “...it’s okay if you’re a synth, you know,” he mumbled sleepily into the pillow. “I don’t care.”

She wanted to feel comforted by the statement, but she had no idea what he was referring to.

“What’s a synth?”

There was a pause long enough to worry her, and she stopped working on her claw mod, gently setting the screwdriver down and leaning to check if he was now asleep. He took the opportunity to grab her band, sliding it away with a shove that sent it skittering under the couch. It was a petty move, but she was too tired to go fetch it, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes with a huff.

“I do not get you, brother,” he said, his last words before he finally went to sleep for the night.

It wasn’t long before Suit began to drift off herself, wondering how she could fall asleep next to Hancock after his recent behaviour. She was surprised to discover she really didn’t care. Inside her armour, she tapped her fingernail against the under-brace following each of her fingers, listening to the muted _tip-tip-tip_ as the sound travelled up through her suit, and wondered if it had always felt this heavy.

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

 

As uncomfortable as falling asleep scrunched up on the floor was, Suit still slept dead through her alarm as it beeped out from inside her bedroom. Waking up had never been a skill she’d gotten the hang of, so it was well after lunch by the time she finally came to, briefly disorientated as to why she was in the dirt behind the couch. When the events of last night came back to her, she got up and dazedly looked around for any sign of Hancock but it appeared he’d left before she awoke; the dried flecks of vomit on her fusion cover the only proof he’d been there.

Last night had been... _well_. It had been awkward, to say the least.

Suit may have been a coward, and a crybaby, but feelings were something she didn’t really do well with. Broken tech was simple. Broken _people_ were well beyond the scope of her understanding.

Why they couldn’t just go cry in the bathroom with the taps turned on, she didn’t know.

Still, it could have been worse. At least it wasn’t she who’d mauled someone’s face. Hancock could take care of his own dignity. It was all good so long as hers was still intact. Today was a new day, and the sun was shining brightly through the sickly green haze of incoming radiation, irritating the fuck out of everybody with a hangover. After a breakfast of cordial and Rad-X, Suit gathered her work kit and stepped out onto the street for another day of faffery, satisfied that they could both leave the events of last night where they belonged.

***

Or not.

 “Yeah, I got your assignments right here,” the woman in the faded blue dress said, digging through a scattered pile of papers on her little wooden desk. “Yup. Hancock says you’re to ‘ _just_ _go round and fix shit, I dunno_ ’.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. _He_ doesn’t know.” She held up the paper, which Suit didn’t even bother checking. “That’s what it says. Hey since you’re here, my radio isn’t picking up-“

But Suit turned and left the room, heading up the spiral stairs back to street level.

Hancock was avoiding her.

Thinking back, Suit probably should have expected this. It had been four days since she’d last seen him lying behind her sofa, getting all wanky about feelings and stuff. Four days since she’d heard a word directly from his mouth, or received an evening visit from the only person she ever actually conversed with anymore. Suit sort of prided herself on being a low-maintenance friend. The sort you could see or not, meet or not, miss for a while and then pop back in like nothing happened. Granted, she had no real memories by which she could classify herself as such, it was just that she hadn’t yet felt lonely since realising she had absolutely nobody but her suit...

Not that she _was_ lonely, obviously!

They were fine on their own. It’s not like she was haunting the streets with a cape and a lantern, calling out for the mayor in the evening fog. She’d been ‘ _going round and fixing shit, I dunno’_ as per orders, minding her own business and staying out of everybody’s way. She’d been shooting twice and in the evenings after work had fiddled about with a design for an entirely new type of tiny robot. She’d even paid a visit to a fascinating (if grotesque) art gallery! No, she was getting by fine all on her own, so she definitely wasn’t lonely...

Just...

 _Well, I mean it is a_ bit _lonely.  
“He’s bored of you.”_

If she hadn’t have been encased in metal, Suit would have gripped the bridge of her nose in sudden exasperation.

_No he is not. He’s just... shy, and ashamed. Because he doesn’t know that I don’t care about what happened.  
“He’s bored of your slack. He said so himself.”_

_What he said was that I needed to be careful, because he doesn’t want me to die. Which is nice.  
“He told you to take it off.”_

Suit’s jaw snapped shut, and she grit her teeth, absently picking up a heavy crate as she walked to Daisy’s place and carrying it inside for her.

_“He’s tired of being friends with someone he doesn’t even know.”_

She ignored the voices, checking around the shop for the absent Daisy before heading back out for another crate.

 _“He told you secrets, and you just sat there.”_  
But I-  
“So why would he want to be friends with you?” they whispered spitefully, lashing round inside her own head. _“Why would anyone want to bother being friends with you?”_

“I don’t know. I guess that’s why _I have none!_ ”

“You have no what?” a rasping voice drawled behind her, sounding not at all alarmed that a metal monster was berating itself in the shop, and breaking her out of her whispers.

Suit almost dropped the crate as she spun around to face Daisy, only just managing to keep it balanced in her arms. “Oh! Daisy, I was... crates.” She offered, and quickly turned and deposited the box atop the first one, then stood guiltily to one side as if she’d been caught misbehaving. “I just dropped by to see if my order had arrived yet.” _And I didn’t know?_ she thought of supplying, but Suit was smart enough to know that even in a helmet, she didn’t have a poker face for dishonesty.

Daisy smiled placatingly, unmoving, as if the whole world was an open book that she’d already read.

_Old people._

“Just this morning, actually. Let me get that for you. I got one more crate out there, the rest are Kleo’s, let that bag o’ bolts do her own heavy lifting. You fetch that inside and then I’ll get you sorted.”

Suit left, returning shortly with a final crate with purple-stained corners and the faintly cloying smell of mutfruit, which she set down just inside the entrance.

“Well aren’t you a fine young man?” Daisy said with a wry smile as she got comfortable behind her counter and fished up a shoebox. “Can I interest you in somethin’ to drink? I got some nice tea in last week’s shipment.”

Suit shook her head, pouring a estimated amount of bottle caps onto the counter before shoving the bag back into her side pouch. She had almost endless free time, but still not enough to bother counting out two hundred of them. “Thank you, but no. I’d better get back to work.”

“Aw, that boy got you runnin’ around, has he?”

Suit stuffed the package into her tool kit, then began tapping on her leg plate. “...Stuff needs fixing.”

“That so? You know, I ain’t seen you two around in a few days,” she said, perhaps a little too casually. “Must be somethin’ keeping John busy too, huh?”

Suit nodded dolefully, then remembered Daisy couldn’t see and inclined her chest forward in agreement.

Daisy snorted. “Yeah, our mayor... always working,” if the tone of Daisy’s voice could have put quotation marks around something, it would have done so then. “Could be that sometimes someone needs to remind him to take a break. In fact, I think I just saw him heading down to the Rail... probably got some paperwork needs doin’...”

Daisy wasn’t even surprised when Suit left the shop without so much as a goodbye.

***

The Third Rail, Mayor Hancock’s home-away-from-home, was a seedy little bar nestled in the ribcage of an old subway system. Underground as it was, it was always warm inside; sometimes stifling if you were encased in metal, and with no air flow the main room was always filled with lingering cigarette smoke, diffusing the low lighting and giving the place an ambient air of decadent sleaziness.

It wasn’t a large area and at any time of day you could find a varied number of suspect patrons hanging around. Suit didn’t like how crowded it felt, and while the atmosphere of the place lent to the anonymity of its occupants, it was hard to blend in with full power armour.

Suit much preferred the entrance floor, with its harsh luminescent lighting and faded sage tiles and hollow haunting melodies that rose muffled through the floor. The further she descended, the more that voice came into focus and the more irritable she eventually became. It wasn’t that she disliked Magnolia, per se, only that the lyrics to some of her songs made Suit vaguely unhappy. It was a pity though because even with her bizarre aversion she could well understand why people called Magnolia the Flower of the Third Rail and came nightly to listen to her croon. She was an example of that rare apocalyptic culture, and the only one she’d seen so far that didn’t involve severed body parts.

Magnolia was of course there when Suit made her way down the steps to the bar; Goodneighbor’s resident belle held odd hours and never seemed to rest. Unfortunately, Magnolia was the _only_ person she recognised when she glanced around the bar.

She traipsed on over and the singer slipped off her barstool, smiling winsomely. “Well hello there, Suit. Is there somethin’ I can do for you?”

“I’m looking for the mayor. He’s in, yes?”

Magnolia’s smile grew, and she draped herself back against the bar, looking the closest to a pinup that Suit had seen since the world ended. “Mmm,” she purred, “straight to business huh? You ought to take a break.”

“Maybe later. I just want to find-“

“Now there’s somethin’ special about you, isn’t there?” she chuckled to herself, batting long sultry lashes and ignoring Suit’s impatience. “Don’t tell me, let me guess...” her eyes trailed along the lines of Suit’s armour, slow and languid and calculated and _sexual_. It was a fantastic effort utterly wasted on the wrong demographic. “Ahh, that’s it. You have that “I’m _the smartest one here and I know it_ ” posture. There’s something so irresistible about intelligence, don’t you think?”

Suit’s mouth fell open abruptly, and for a moment she couldn’t manage to make any sound come out.  “...I’m wearing full body armour, Magnolia.”

“And those eyes...” Magnolia continued, and you had to respect a captain that was that prepared to sink with the ship. “Quick and intense-“

“You can’t see my eyes.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you got the cocky smirk of a gambler?” The woman kept a straight face. “You know, Lady Luck is probably my second favourite-“

“Ha!” she barked, “not likely!”

“Those powerful muscles of yours... _my_ , I could-“

She shook her head. “Not even close.”

“Well it sure as hell isn’t your charisma, big guy,” Magnolia muttered, blowing strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Where is Hancock, Magnolia?”

The singer rolled her eyes at defeat and pouted, canting a hip and resting her hand upon it defiantly. Suit stared, visor boring into her. They were locked in a stalemate as the seconds ticked by, the only sound coming from Whitechapel’s robotic arms as he subtly eavesdropped while polishing a glass. Suit slumped. Magnolia obviously wasn’t going to talk. With a sigh, she turned and walked away, about to retreat upstairs when the true iron lady of Goodneighbor herself came waltzing round the corner from the back rooms.

“He doesn’t wanna talk to you,” Fahrenheit said with a smirk. Fahrenheit was _always_ smirking. Suit had no idea what she had to be so smug about.

“Yes, I kind of worked that out around the third time I ‘just missed him’.” _Call me optimistic._ Still, if Fahrenheit was here then there was a good chance that Hancock was still nearby. Fahrenheit was about to speak, but Suit interrupted her. “If you’re about to say something about chess, I’m kind of on a mission today. _Where is he?_ ”

“It doesn’t matter where he is. He doesn’t want to talk to you,” and in the seedy mood lighting of the bar, Suit caught Fahrenheit’s eyes darting to the hallway she’d come from.

_...well that’s just insulting._

“So he’s hiding.”

“Well...yeah,” she shrugged.

If Suit heard the choked little curse that came from round the corner where anyone _may or may not_ have been concealed, she made no show of it. _Of course he’s avoiding me. I’d be avoiding someone too if I’d spilled my feelings all over their carpet._ Unfortunately for the mayor, Suit didn’t actually have any other friends, so she couldn’t afford the luxury of writing one off over awkwardness.

“...alright,” she sighed, “well if you see him, will you let him know I finally got the parts for that missile launcher?” There came the choking again.

Fahrenheit was looking to that hallway again, making a poor show of hiding her amusement. “Oh? That’ll take a load off my boys, for sure.”

“It’s going to revolutionise the way we identify targets. It’s a little experimental, but hey – _progress._ ”

Suit gave a wave and turned to go, making it almost to the bottom of the stairs before he gave up and swung around the corner with a yell. “Hey! I said no missiles!”

She stopped, her hand resting on the rail that would lead her outside, and turned back in his direction. When her visor met his eyes he at least had the decency to appear guilty, and furrowed his brow with a little grumble, looking adorably abashed.

“Mister mayor,” she stepped back over and gave him a perfunctory half bow.

He looked everywhere but her, then relented and gave her a tired nod. “Suit.”

Suit hadn’t actually planned what to say once she finally got Hancock to acknowledge her. Social situations weren’t something you could draft a work plan for and _she_ wasn’t the one with the doinky bobblehead, so she stood there speechless, hoping he would get this conversation going. Which he did not.

It took Fahrenheit all of seconds to get bored of watching her boss pluck at loose strings on his stupid frock coat, and the tin can was no better with that relentless tapping. Eventually she snorted, looking between the two of them. “Alright. What happened?”

At first no one replied, until Suit gave an inward shrug and blurted the first thing that popped into her head.

“Hancock got blitzed and made a pass at me.”

“I- _what?_ ” he coughed, looking between them and protesting his innocence. “I did not do that!” At Fahrenheit’s sceptical but delighted stare he continued, “Fahr, c’mon. Shame is not real thing. If I’d have done that do ya really think I’d be denying it?”

“He did do that. Got my plating all ruffled.” She’d already started so she kind of had to run with it. It wasn’t like she was going to announce that Hancock got blitzed and threw up down her back... besides, that tortured expression on his face was pretty cute too... “That man knows his way around a three-pin connector, _oh_ , let me tell you.”

“Don’t tell her,” Hancock muttered blandly, sending her the side-eye of betrayal.

“Talk about a custom modification _, dang_ -”

“That doesn’t mean anything! Nothing he’s saying even means anything.”

“You bastard,” said Suit dryly, “it meant something to _me_.”

Okay, now _that_ got a smile out of him.

It also got one out of Fahrenheit, who at Hancock’s amused snort decided this was a pointless issue and gave some hurried excuse to leave, making ambiguously non-committal promises not to spread the lie. Magnolia also excused herself, which left Hancock and Suit staring at each other in the dim lighting. Suit was awful at maintaining eye contact. Fortunately she had a black visor.

Eventually Hancock turned with a groan and padded off towards the back rooms, leaving Suit to follow. She trailed him through a doorway and closed the heavy door after them, the sounds of the bar fading away as it clicked into the frame. The room was small and bright, the beam from the halogen light overhead stretched out to every corner. The floor was concrete; the walls were peeled off-white paint. There was a _very_ suspicious dark stain that had been poorly scrubbed off the ground.

_Either somebody dropped a watermelon or Hancock is about to get rid of the witnesses..._

“...my stabby senses are tingling.” She probably shouldn’t have said those things to Fahrenheit.

“So are mine,” he murmured, traipsing across the room to throw himself into the only chair with a _flump_.

Yep. Definitely shouldn’t have said them.

His hands automatically went to his pockets, patting around until he found a tin of Mentats. He did that so often Suit always wondered why he never knew where they were to begin with.

“I guess I’ll just stand here then... in this room with only one chair...” she patted the sides of her leg plates nervously and Hancock shook his head with a small grin.

She stared at him but he still wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“It’s not that hard, Hancock.” She sighed heavily and went to lean against the adjoining wall. “Just say you were drunk and don’t remember anything and then we both never mention it again.”

“I don’t black out when I get high, man.” Hancock scowled. “I’m not an amateur.”

“Then apologise for mauling my face and we’ll move on.”

His expression softened, and he closed his eyes, running his hands over his face and looking every bit as tired as he sounded right then. “I was in a bad place the other night. I don’t always-“

“I know.” Suit lifted a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I was there. I’m not here for an apology.”

“Nah, thanks man, but I got this,” he waved her protests away, taking a resolute breath before continuing. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. That whole thing about the suit...“ He trailed off, lifting up his hat and running a hand over his ruined scalp. “Look man, I don’t want you to think that I’m not cool with the suit. When I told you... I shouldn’t have done that. I was on a mission that night... I ended up takin’ some pretty hard stuff, but that was my bad, so... I’m sorry.”

She was about to repeat herself, but after seeing how genuinely remorseful he was decided against it. It wasn’t a big deal to her because Hancock had always given more than he took, and it wasn’t like he could have done her any damage or actually even _tried_ to... but if she hadn’t have had the armour, she knew she’d be singing a different tune. Then again, if she didn’t have the armour he wouldn’t have had any reason to jump on her in the first place, so who even knew?

 “...alright.”

Hancock searched her with a wary eye, as if she were playing some kind of trick on him. When all she gave him was a shrug, he huffed through the remains of his nose. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re not welcome here, or anything... not because of something _I_ did.”

Suit shook her head, laughing to herself. “Hancock, this Suit can withstand _grenades_. I’m pretty sure my feelings are going to hold up just fine.”

“That’s... not how feelings work, man,” he murmured weakly, arching his brow at her.

“Whatever! I installed three inches of steel for a front door, I _live_ almost permanently in three inches of steel. ‘ _Feeling welcome’_ has never been high on my list of priorities... that said,” she raised a hand to signal she wasn’t done as he opened his mouth, probably cutting off another unnecessary apology, “I’ve never once felt unwelcome here. You’ve gone well out of your way to make sure I got settled in. I know I’ve made some pretty far-out requests, annnd I’m not the easiest person to get along with- _yes_ , _I’m_ _aware of it_ ,” she rolled her eyes as Hancock’s mouth snapped shut on a retort, a boyish grin beginning to tug at the edges of his mouth. “but you’ve made things much easier for me. I am very grateful for that. I don’t think you realise how- well, of course you don’t...” She let out a frustrated sigh and concern flashed over his face. “Hancock, you helped me when I needed it – and I _really_ needed it. Now, I’m not saying handjobs and piggyback rides here, but if there’s anything you ever need from me – a place to crash, a face to maul, a missile launcher on the barricade-“

“No.”

“- _hmph_. Well, whatever you need. I mean, I know Jones must have asked you to help me out or whatever, but I appreciate it.”

“Well, yeah, but all the good stuff was me. He just asked me to give you a job and make sure you didn’t instantly die.”

“And you hit me with a grenade. Exemplary.”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?”

“Not ever,” she replied, and they both laughed, the heavy mood finally lifting away. “Anyway last night was last night. Don’t worry about yesterday, man. It’s a new day now. It’s not like you attacked me. You don’t really have anything to apologise for.”

Suit generally found it difficult to get angry at _anyone_ , least of all someone she actually liked. When life was pounding you in the face with a sledgehammer, you stopped noticing all the subtle little jabs. Given the option she wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.

“So we’re good?” Hancock asked, his smile both pleasantly surprised and pleasingly hopeful. It was a charming smile, despite being on the face of a corpse – the kind of smile that let you get away with anything. Suit didn’t even notice as she instinctively returned it.

“We’re good.”

“Okay,” he said, relieved. “I mean, if you wanted to take the suit off that would be great too,” Suit had to roll her eyes, and then unsatisfied he wouldn’t see it; she gave him the middle finger. Hancock only grinned, “‘cause the curiosity is kinda gettin’ to me now... like, what’s under there? A person? A robot? A really smart dog? I don’t know! But it’s cool if you wanna stay in the suit, Suit. This is Goodneighbor. You do you. No judgement.”

“No judgement,” she smiled brightly. “...so you’re going to stop avoiding me now, right?”

“That was the last of the batch, so for now at least,” he said with a grin, probably only half joking. “Come on, the ‘tats got me thirsty, let’s head back out before people start making _assumptions_.”

“I can’t imagine why, this is such a welcoming, cosy little room,” she pushed open the door and looked back at the stain on the floor before stepping out into the hallway. “The cleanup crew is probably already on its way.”

“I was thinking more like the kind that involves me _making a pass at your power armour._ ” He followed behind, casting a glare that was both amused and exasperated up at her.

“No one’s going to believe that!”

“Then you obviously haven’t heard the other rumours.”

She perked up gleefully.

“I don’t usually listen to rumours, but now I’m getting the feeling that I really, _really_ should.”

***

Suit couldn’t actually drink but now that they were speaking again she felt hesitant to leave so soon. While Hancock insisted neither of them were high enough for those rumours, it was still great that things were back to normal, and they whiled away the time swapping updates and catching up on news.

“Oh,” Hancock snapped his fingers as he remembered, “I spoke to Kent yesterday. He’s found another bad guy for his hero thing.”

“Oh god,” Suit reeled. “I almost regret finding you now. Who’s the target this time? Somebody buttered their toast on the wrong side?”

“An assassin named Kendra. Real piece of work, actually.”

“Huh...” That got her. In a world where someone would shank you for half a grey boiled egg, it was hard to believe assassins could actually find work in the apocalypse. “...and that’s, uh, _illegal,_ here?”

 “...really?” Hancock eyed her over his hands, which were nimbly rolling a cigarette. “Don’t start this again, man.”

“No! I know, I’m not doing a Thing...” she shook her head, pursing her lips thoughtfully, “It’s just that when you put an actual title on it, it seems kind of like a real job.”

“We are not having this conversation.”

“I know! I’m just saying...” she mumbled, “... _job title_.”

Suit held her hands up in surrender as he stared at her over his lighter, looking distinctly unimpressed.

She watched him take a drag on his cigarette, staring at those oddly fascinating throat muscles moving as he pulled the smoke in deep, before pulling her gaze away and choosing instead to glance about the room. She came to a stop on Whitechapel, observing absently as he pulled a bag from the freezer and began grilling mystery meat skewers for the incoming midday customers. One of the skewers landed too close to the edge of the grating when the robot turned them over and flopped off onto the floor. He picked it up and popped it back on the grill without so much as even dusting it off.

That wasn’t in his programming... someone had actually _instructed_ him to do that.

With a sigh she turned away in time to see Hancock drain the rest of his bottle as if it were water and then motion for Whitechapel to bring him another. It was barely lunch. She wondered if his drinking was a cause or a symptom of his behaviour the other night. He dropped the butt of his spent cigarette into the empty bottle with a faint sizzle, tilting it to stare down through the neck while huffing to himself. She wasn’t about to tell him he _shouldn’t_ be drinking alcohol at midday, but perhaps some air would do them both good.

“Fancy a walk then?”

He looked at her over the table, his mottled finger tracing round the mouth of the beer bottle. “Hm. Where?”

“Well I thought I might go into town anyway. I could at least tag along. I mean I’m no Kent but _I am_ covered in a bulletproof alloy.”

 “Yeah?” He grinned, pausing as Whitechapel took a moment from cooking to swing by with another beer for him. He popped the bottle cap off smoothly, leaving it on the tabletop. “What’re you shoppin’ for?”

She waited until he took a sip.

“...will you make a stupid quip if I tell you I’m out of industrial lubricant?”

Hancock choked up on his drink.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I haven't posted! I had to leave town... abruptly. The new place is nice but I guess it's been hard to settle down.  
> I don't know if this chapter is okay but I had to get one out and break that wall, so here it is. I noticed I have a tendency to ramble off on tangents full of pointless events and conversations, but I have no wish to stop doing that, because I wouldn't know when to stop and then all the chapters would come out at like ten lines and be sad soo...


	20. Chapter Twenty

 

Later that afternoon MacCready was settling back into his usual spot down in the Third Rail after a job well done. The caravan to Warwick had been uneventful with only a few incidents along the way, and he’d earned his caps by standing around and looking pretty. He was just about to sit down to a full meal – one of his rare treats that he allowed himself on the satisfying completion of any job – and before him lay a plate of eggs and steak, baked tatoes and collard greys. A little fancy, but money wasn’t so tight these days that he had to scrimp every cap. Whitechapel had even dug out a little seasoning to welcome him back, and the whole thing looked _amazing_. A single actually-cold beer sat to the side of his plate, beckoning him to drink, and he rubbed his hands together and reached across his plate for it when the door burst the fu _hh-eck_ open, causing him to jolt and nearly knock it off the table when he whipped for his sidearm.

With a dramatic flourish and absolutely no consideration for anyone else, his boss and his mayor stood in the doorway like the world’s worst tag team.

“Put this on.”

Suit hurled a dark trench coat at him, flanked by a grinning Mayor Hancock brandishing a matching fedora.

\---

“I feel like a complete tool in this getup.”

Suit watched MacCready hoist up his belt again, tucking a stray shirt tail into the waistband of his new black trousers, scratching himself subtly as he did so. He’d protested at first; something about basic human dignity and eggs, but Hancock had promised him first looksies on the job roster next month and Suit had promised not to replace him with a Mister Handy, and so The Shroud 3.0 was born. 

“Well you look like a complete tool, so it’s fine,” Suit remarked, passing over the worn plastic bowl that contained bite sized pieces of the meal MacCready refused to leave behind. He took a fork from the inside of his jacket and continued eating, while Hancock carried his shotgun at the ready and Suit scanned the streets for any heat signatures.

“You ain’t doin’ the voice, MacCready,” Hancock piped in with a grin, checking round a corner before waving them on. “You gotta do the voice!”

“The voi- _ugh._ How come I have to wear this anyway? I thought you said this was important?”

Suit turned her helmet away from him in a mock gesture of innocence. “Did I?”

“Yes! You dragged me out in the middle of dinner – which I only get once in a blue moon, and made me put this stupid outfit on!”

“Well,” she hopped down a tall ledge with a loud _thud,_ and then stood still while they used her as a foothold. “…a little drama never hurt anyone. _”_

Hancock leapt from her shoulder, landing on the ground and recovering instantly, agile as he was. “This _is_ important.”

“What is this about anyway?” MacCready came next, less polite about clambering down her armour for his own comfort. “I feel like I missed something while I was away. Oh, _shi_ -ucks.” He began swatting something off her shoulder, and she turned around to him in time to see him pop something in his mouth. There was sauce on his hands.

“Oh, _really?_ ” She wasn’t physically capable of rotating to see what he’d spilt on her armour so she had to let it go. “Well you didn’t miss anything, and anyway, we’re taking you along now. Hancock wants to kill an assassin.”

“Okaaay... why?”

Suit shrugged, but Hancock was exasperated, “Because _she’s an assassin!_ Why does nobody get this?”

Suit avoided eye contact, scuffling pebbles along with the toe of her boot. Sure, the world could certainly use one less murderer in it, and of course it would be nice if people didn’t get assassinated... but when Hancock had suggested they pay Kendra a visit on their way to _(snerk)_ find supplies, she’d only relented because he was going to be there too. Honour and cowardice apparently worked equally well as a shield to hide behind, but Mayor Hancock might be more effective than both.

“Alright,” MacCready relented, holding his fork in surrender. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. It’s just you’ve got me in this stupid costume – I always thought that was more your thing Hancock… no offence.”

“It’s Kent What’s-his-face’s idea,” Suit explained. “He guilted me into getting the Silver Shroud costume from a comic book store nearby. Said he wanted to bring the character to life and give everyone something nice to think about, or whatever.”

“That’s...kinda dumb.”

“Harsh, but true.” she had to agree.

“That still doesn’t explain why we’re out here with his costume though- _gah!_ ” MacCready stumbled, Hancock and Suit turning just in time to watch him bonk into a low rail. “This coat was not made for running through the city; it keeps getting caught on everything! I’m takin’ it off.”

“No!”

“Then I’ll just tear a bit off the-”

“No!! We only borrowed it.” Suit nudged him forward as he tried to stop and tear at the trench coat.

“Then lemme take it off!”

“If you take it off then we’re just three more losers running around making a mess, which really defeats the purpose of this ridiculous endeavour.”

“C’mon MacCready, keep up.” Hancock tutted, stopping briefly to scan the path ahead. “All we’re askin’ you to do is wear a coat _and_ you’re getting paid for it! This whole ‘Silver Shroud’ thing sounds stupid, sure, but isn’t _anything_ worth trying once?”

“It sounds stupid?” Suit lurched forward, which was the power-armoured equivalent of an eye roll. “It’s pretty much _exactly_ what you’re already doing.”

MacCready snorted, mumbling something witty over a mouthful of food that Suit didn’t even recognise. Hancock was as good natured as ever, giving an easy-going shrug. “Yeah, well, but it ain’t like I ever said I was _the_ John Hancock. I have full disclosure on dead patriots.”

“Oddly necessary,” Suit mumbled. “You know, the first night I met you – after I remembered who John Hancock was – I thought for a moment you might be the _actual reanimated corpse_ of a founding father.”

“You’re kidding?” At Suit’s guilty shrug Hancock shook his head with a laugh. “Aw, come on, you’re supposed to be the smart one! You come out with the weirdest shit sometimes.”

“No, I just…” she snorted, remembering her first evening in Goodneighbor, as if it were a hundred years ago. “Everything else has gone to hell, why not death too?” Her face fell under the plate, “...and then I realised you were just wearing his genuine clothes and spilling stale booze on, well, one of the last surviving relics of America, which, you know... isn’t better...” she trailed off.

Hancock snorted, “Better use on me than some coat hanger, plus it ain’t like he’s usin’ it anymore.”

“But there are other coats you could be wearing while you get shot at.”

“But I wouldn’t look as stylish in them,” he whipped his wrist, the ruffles on the cuffs of his shirt straightening out and looking quite dashing. 

“...” but Suit was saved from having to think up a comeback when MacCready’s coat snagged on an exposed piece of wall meshing. She turned her attention to untangling it carefully for him.

“Well so long as I’m getting paid, I don’t care, but have you guys really thought this through?” MacCready’s nimble fingers would have done the job better over cumbersome metal ones, but he was using them to scarf down the last of his meal. “I mean, no offence, Hancock, but you’re not exactly known for leaving witnesses.”

Suit snapped to look at Hancock and found he’d done the same; the realisation that was dawning on his face perfectly mirrored in her own under her helmet.

“Ohh... we could have just brought the little cards,” she pursed her lips.

Hancock immediately turned around and lit a cigarette, turning his back to the group to contemplate. Eventually it seemed he decided that he was cleaning up trouble one way or another, so he didn’t care. He shrugged at her.

“...alright, just... um, tie it round your waist,” she compromised. 

MacCready did, looking patronisingly smug as he folded the back over so the long coat was, if not practical, at least more manageable. “So if this was all Kent’s idea, why are we the ones doing the hard work?”

“Because Suit made an ass of himself the last time, got the Watch involved and everything. He came runnin’ into-“

“ _Long story short:_ Kent couldn’t make it so we needed a replacement. Hancock’s already in costume and it won’t fit me.”

MacCready adjusted his belt again, _scratch scratch_ , “Aw man, it’s itching like hell.”

“Well... talk to Kent about that,” she shrugged awkwardly. “We’re almost there.”

\---

Suit’s sense of direction was such that she could get lost inside a paper bag, but both MacCready and Hancock knew their way around and so they found the place without too much trouble, stomping down a couple of feral skinless dogs on the way. Kendra’s residence was in an old ramshackle apartment building, boringly enough, and a great yellow sign hung outside that read, ‘NOW LEASING’. They stopped in front of it and looked up at what was left of the old building, perhaps taken aback that there were no guards outside. While she wasn’t sure what she _had_ expected to find, the whole affair seemed very underwhelming.

“Do you think they’re actually leasing or did someone just leave that up?”

“Shall we find out?” Hancock asked with a smile.

The door was held up with hope and half a hinge and it gave under Suit’s boot like an old skull, splitting and splintering into shards of wood that scattered across the inner hallway, the noise drawing out a couple of raiders in the front rooms.

“Not very secure... and the cigarette machine is also empty,” Suit noted, side-stepping trouble and mashing the selection button for a pack of Grey Tortoise. It was off to a poor start.

The crack of Hancock’s shotgun sounded as he opened up a red hole in the first raider’s shoulder when the thug rushed out with a tire iron in hand. The man was thrown back, staggering through a broken wall into what was once a kitchen. In the momentary confusion MacCready levelled his rifle and fired a bullet into the neck of the second raider before she could open fire, blood smattering behind her on the wall as she dropped. Hancock stepped over her body, smashing the rifle of his shotgun into the face of the surviving raider before turning it round and firing again. The action was over in seconds.

“... and the previous tenants seem like complete assholes,” Hancock reloaded his weapon and stepped casually back out into the hallway, heading towards the staircase.

_...damn._

Suit and MacCready followed him up, the latter moving silently and in her cover, using her power armour to stay undetected. The second floor was no better than the first – that is, it was a total shed. The structural damage to the building was immense; the cracks trailing across the walls were beyond being hidden behind even the biggest painting; just walking onto the second floor hallway made Suit nervous.

“Wait.” Hancock held up a hand, pausing before the corner. He stood against the wall and carefully leaned out to confirm the source of the motorised sound reverberating down the hallway- “Yep!” -he pulled back quickly; a round of slick bullets began an assault on the wall across from them.

“Oh, a turret.” Suit began digging through her ordnance pack, feeling awkwardly by general shape rather than actual touch. It took a few moments to find what she was looking for; time in which MacCready and Hancock almost grew bored, watching her blandly as she fished it out. “My turn! I am also useful!”

Hancock snorted, and they both looked down at what she held in her palm for show: a small box of black metal, oddly unrusted, and about half the size of a cigarette packet. It was suspended by way of four complicated rods in a protective casing made of wires, trailed artfully into a spherical cage.

“What is that?” MacCready held out his hand so Suit handed it over, and he pored over it, turning it about curiously.

“Hm, this is something I made when I almost got you shot. Finished it the other day and figured I’d field-test.”

“Aw boss, I didn’t know you cared,” he handed the little wire ball to Hancock, who immediately tested it for bludgeoning weight. “What’s it do?”

 “You throw it and it lets off a controlled EMP – electromagnetic radiation. It’ll cause nearby electronics to surge; overload their circuits. The turrets will go down without taking too much damage... presumably.” At this, MacCready arched an eyebrow at her. She smirked in return, giving a metal shrug of her ego. “If my numbers are correct, which they usually are. Oh, and it also wipes all storage drives, so you can use it to erase anything stored on a terminal in a hurry – you know, if you needed that kind of thing... which I don’t. _Transparent Policy,”_ she added smugly as Hancock and MacCready swapped confused glances. “More importantly it means I can shut down a group of turrets regardless of how many networks they’re on... no more possibly-fatal accidents. Also it doubles up as a paperweight, so that’s neat too.”

“So it’s like a crap grenade?” Hancock asked as he held it back out for her. MacCready said nothing, but he stared intently at the little device as she plucked it from the mayor’s fingers.

“Excuse you,” Suit snapped. “This is very sophisticated technology for the _apocalypse_. Not everything is a grenade, mister mayor. Besides, I wouldn’t put effort into anything that was meant to be thrown away. Look - it’s reusable. You power it with fusion cells, see there?” She pointed to a slot tucked away safely inside the cage. “That way caravans would only need one. It’s very economical.”

“You’re gonna sell these to the caravans?” Hancock asked, his interest piqued.

“If I can get it working, I’ll _give them_ to the caravans.” Momentarily blinded by the radiant light of Hancock’s approval, Suit had to hold up her hand to shield her eyes. “It’s in my interest that the caravans make it through safely. It’s also in my interest that they think of me _favourably_.”

He didn’t deflate much. “Well at least it comes with a free turret.”

“But what’s to stop raiders using it on _our_ turrets?” MacCready piped in.

 _Typical_. _You invent something new and suddenly everyone is on the damn safety board._

“I want to say that would remind them _not to lose it_ , but as I said, fine tuning,” she replied grudgingly. “In theory it also works on any robots or electronic hardware, certain kinds of powered weaponry and it _might_ damage several brands of household non-electronics. And power armour.” She hummed when their eyebrows rose sceptically. “Usually. I’ve fixed that... mostly.”

They seemed doubtful, but stepped back against the wall for safety anyway while Suit double-checked her handiwork.

“Oh, and before we do this – does either of you have a family history of heart defects?” she asked absently, her attention fixed on scanning over the tiny metal rods holding the electronics in place.

That caught them off guard. They slowly shook their heads at her, bewildered.

“Ever had a stroke?” Again they shook their heads, looking now more at each other than at her.

She held it carefully between two fingers, pointing at small switches on both sides where armoured fingers wouldn’t fit through the wire mesh. Hancock ventured in and flicked them along their tracks; a small light sparked white on the box.

“...ah, annnd if your nose starts bleeding later or you think you’re developing a migraine, do let me know.”

“Wait,wha-”

Suit leaned out and lobbed the little device gently down the hallway, where it trundled and bounced over the scattered floor and came to a stop about a metre away from the target. She waited with them round the corner. Hancock and MacCready were both completely unsure as to what to expect from her new toy and waited with horrified interest for some small detonation. In fact the device gave off no sound at all – at least not one that they would hear – so they actually missed the exact moment it worked. Suit noticed. She noticed because her HUD blinked out suddenly, the visual overlay going dark and taking with it anything controlled by a secondary operations system (which turned out to be almost _everything_ – an unfortunate early wiring decision). The men realised it worked when they noticed the turret was no longer operational, silent and motionless, and from elsewhere on the floor a radio cut out unexpectedly in one of the back rooms, dying in the middle of a chorus. Hancock leaned around Suit to check the turret.

Nothing.

“Huh.” MacCready followed Hancock, stepping out to look at the still turret. He remembered the turret incident in question – he’d almost died. Not dying was one of his top priorities, but it was rarely in his employers’ top five. “Hey boss, it worked! That’s kinda cool... oh man, you should name it after me.”

“Careful what you wish for MacCready,” Hancock grinned, but it fell short when Suit didn’t chip in with any smartass comments. “Y’alright in there brother? That little gadget do a number on you too?”

She held up a hand, signalling for them to give her a moment, unable to speak while her distortion was down. Across her screen ran an endless wall of text, made longer by the addition of all her dirty modifications, complete with her messy speed-coding and even the occasional note-to-self. Eventually her hand began counting down from five on her fingers as the last initialisation tasks carried out... four... three... two... one, and-

“Alright, I’m back online,” she said with a minor flourish, “and everything went as expected! Congratulations to me.”

“I gotta say that was pretty painless boss,” MacCready’s face looked both sceptical and impressed, as if he’d been expecting her to fail.

_Rude._

“And stealthy too. Would be good for sneakin’.”

“Indeed. Shall I make you one?”

“Oh hell yeah. Silent but deadly, that’s the best way to do it. I always thought it was smarter to hit my targets at long range. I mean, why take chances, right?”

“Precisely! That’s a very sensible opinion MacCready.” They both looked to Hancock, silently commenting on his hooligan tendencies. He shrugged brazenly. “Alright,” she continued, “the turret will stay offline until someone boots it up again, but they’ll have to restart the terminal it’s on first.”

“Meaning we should get in there.”

“Yeah… wonderful,” she intoned drily. “Pity your range doesn’t work in corridors, MacCready.”

“Yeah well, I can’t shoot round corners.”

It was at this point Suit zoned out of the hushed and hurried conversation, swimming off into a downward spiral of trying to find a way to rig a thermal imaging device to MacCready that wouldn’t have him toppling over. It wasn’t until Hancock slapped her on the arm and gestured to the hallway ahead of them that she remembered where she was, noticing them now staring expectantly at her.

“Well go on then,” Hancock nodded down the ruined hall smugly.

“I’m sorry, what?” she blinked down at them. “I stopped paying attention to you after _‘round corners’_.”

“Seeing as you’re in power armour and we’re in fancy dress, we figured it was best to send you in first.”

Suit opened her mouth wordlessly, staring down at them. “…that is both very reasonable and also… just…” she peered down the hallway which apparently led to an assassin. Logically, if everyone ever was a killer now, what awaited her around that corner must be some sort of… super-killer? “No! This is _your_ mission! Why do I have to go down there? What are you expecting me to do?” She recoiled. “If you’re about to suggest I _hold her down_ for you I will quit.”

“No-no-no!” Hancock shook his head and gave Suit a soothing pat on the arm. “Just go draw her out. You said it yourself, MacCready can’t shoot round corners.”

“I didn’t say that! MacCready said that! Maybe _he_ should go in there and I can stay here and- _hm._ ” Bait or murder? Suit looked down the ominous hallway again, suspense blossoming across the back of her neck. It wasn’t so much her safety that she was worried about; she just didn’t want to be involved in complicated things that required effort. “I don’t want to do either of these options.”

Suit noticed MacCready chose to remain silent on the matter; most likely not wanting to get fired or to go down the hallway. He blatantly avoided looking into Suit’s visor, probably hoping if he stayed silent that his boss might think he was as oblivious to the plan as she had been.

“It was a democratic decision.” Hancock shrugged as if there was nothing he could do about it.

“How can it be a democratic decision if I wasn’t even involved?”

“It’s not our fault you didn’t turn up to the polls. Even if you had you’d be outmatched. Get in there.”

“…are you saying my vote doesn’t matter?”

“C’mon big guy, it’ll be fine. We’ll be right here waiting for you.” Hancock placated, giving her shoulder a tenderly reassuring pat and in the same movement a hefty shove in the direction of the hallway. “If anything goes wrong, we’ve got your shiny metal ass covered.”

She didn’t move, staring down at him as he applied increasingly more force until she caved. “…sometimes I forget you’re a politician. Fine, but if this goes tits-up I’m jumping out of a window and you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Hancock sweetly replied after her advancing figure.

“If I had other friends, I wouldn’t be here.”

She huffed and swung round the corner, making no effort to conceal her movement as she stomped up the hallway to the last room, grabbing her shitty grenade on the way.

***

Kendra was… _well_ , not quite as impressive as Suit had been building her up to be. She looked pretty much like everyone else you’d ever meet in the Wasteland – dirty, scraggy and poor. Her boots were held together with duct tape. Her life was held together with duct tape. The only thing special about the assassin Kendra was that she was quite possibly the angriest person Suit had ever seen; her face etched in deep scowl lines that probably added decades onto her real age. Dirt-covered dark skin, dirt-covered dark hair, and mismatched pieces of dirt-covered scavenged armour… she fit right in with her surroundings, like some kind of camouflage wizard. For a moment they stared at each other; behemoth tank to hardened assassin. Suit caught a moment of surprise in the woman’s eyes, but it disappeared quickly to be replaced with bravado.

 _Cough_.

 “I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s very…” she tapped her thigh plates, scanning the room desperately for something nice to say. “…within budget.” _Nice._

Kendra somehow scowled even more, giving Suit a derisive snort.

“Well, you took your sweet time, but no matter. You’re here now, and I do so like it when the little bug crawls willingly into the spider’s webs.”

“Uh…” _What?_ It was like Kendra had, at some point in her past, read a book about a villain and had tried to adopt the stereotype all for her own. She’d done pretty well, it was just that anyone with any sense would know it was ridiculous. “Okay... That was… sad. I see what you were going for though, and the giant gun you’re holding pretty much covers it.”

Kendra ignored her rambling. “I was expecting the Shroud. I don’t remember the episode where he had to put on power armour. Are you afraid, little bug?”

“Oh _god yes,_ ” Suit breathed out. “Permanently. But I’d be lying if I said any of that was attributed to you –” She held up her hands placatingly for the woman. “though I’m sure if I _wasn’t_ bulletproof, I’d be fucking terrified!”

She pointedly ignored the faint snickering coming from back down the hallway.

“Little bug, I’ve taken enough of your kind out to know you ain’t bullet proof,” Kendra said with a malicious smirk, eyes running over Suit’s armour, cataloguing the weaknesses at the joints of her elbows, knees and waist. “You think I couldn’t take you?”

“Well,” Suit turned away, trying to find a gentle way to put it, because while she was an assassin, these moments could very well end up being Kendra’s last. “I mean _realistically_ I doubt you could – not to make light of your skills or anything! You _are_ an assassin, after all, but, well.. _._ ” She sighed, wondering for the first, and probably not the last time, how she let herself get pushed into a stupid situation. “Look at me, lady. Take a good look.” A sweeping hand gesture to her chest plate. “Did you know I can flip a car? I did it the other day just to see if I could, and it worked!” She chuckled, the sound coming through her visor like a technical malfunction. “It was pretty nifty!” When that piece of information didn’t have quite the impact Suit was hoping for, she was forced to change tactics. “…well I thought it was. My point is this: I am in full power armour and your… _everything,_ is falling apart. If this gets out of hand you are fucked because I know _exactly_ where you’re going to be aiming and because one of us still has some backup left.”

_They’re just down the hall. Everything will be okay._

Kendra cast a sceptical eye over Suit’s shoulder, seeing nothing in the hallway behind her.

“The thing is… it’s Kendra, right?” At Kendra’s permissive nod she continued. “The thing is, Kendra, I don’t believe in killing. I especially don’t believe in killing someone to punish them for killing someone else. I mean, where does it stop? That’s unsustainable right there, plus, who put Hancock in charge of deciding who lives or dies? Who looked at the guy in the giant novelty hat and decided, ‘ _yes! That’s who I want making all my decisions for me!_ ’”

The assassin snapped to attention then, way more concerned at the sound of Hancock’s name than at a _big fucking tank_ standing in her apartment. “Wait, Hancock’s involved?”

“I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.” _Um…_ “I’m not sure if I was supposed to tell you that… it’s my first time doing this, sorry.”

“…yeah, I can tell.” Kendra wore a thoroughly unimpressed grimace. “So why’d he send you in his place, little green bug?”

“Don’t promote me to a different bug! I am not a bug. He sent me because I have a unique way of dealing with things, and he… values my… initiative?” Suit benched, “or, you know, he’s having a SMOKE BREAK.”

Suit aimed her last words at the shattered window and Kendra fell for it, eyes widening before she leaned to subtly check if she could spot the tell-tale red coat down on the street outside. When she turned back, Suit shrugged her hulking shoulders.

“Well. Shit.” Kendra sighed roughly.

 “Yeah.” Suit couldn’t help but feel at least a little sorry for the woman who was now coming to the realisation that she was fucked. “Look, like I said, I don’t really like killing. I don’t want you to die today… but you’re also a murderer, so we can’t let things go on like this. I know you’ve done some bad stuff and I’m not ever going to condone that, but hell, show me someone who _hasn’t_ done shit. I mean when you grow up in the fucking apocalypse I’m guessing you don’t always get the opportunity to do what’s right.”

Kendra seemed to be hedging herself. Her face was turned to the window but her eyes and attention were suspiciously held in Suit’s direction, as if she were waiting for some kind of trick. Suit could grasp that. There had been few considerate words spoken to her since she’d woken up and even Hancock’s niceties often came with a side of sarcasm. It’d take more than a little sympathy to melt your way through a professional heart of ice, but it was worth a try.

“I’m sure you’ve had it hard, and you’ve had to make some hard choices to survive.” She continued rambling on, trying to use her _I’m-calm-everybody-stay-calm_ voice, though she wasn’t sure how well it carried through her monotone voice-over. “I’m not saying I understand what you’ve been through but I can get that much, at least.”

“Ohhh, well aren’t you a sensitive soul?” Kendra sneered. “You get that much, do you? What do you think you know about me? What do you think you know about _anything?_ You come into my house, telling me what I can and can’t do, telling me about _hard choices?_ ” She practically spat the words, audible bile rising with her hackles, but any reaction that wasn’t gunfire was a positive one as far as Suit was concerned. “What are you, my fucking agony aunt?”

 “I’m someone that doesn’t want to _kill you._ Why is this so hard? Isn’t there enough death already?” _It doesn’t have to always end with murder,_ she thought, and perhaps Kendra wasn’t the person she really wanted to be telling this to. “Don’t tell me you actually _like_ doing this?”

“Maybe I do!” the woman threw back defiantly, teeth gritted and nerves undercutting her harsh bluster. “I’m good at it.”

“Well fucking stop it!” Suit sighed to herself, raising a great metal paw and wiping it down her visor wearily. “Look, you can’t win this. Hancock’s here, sure. But we also brought the _actual_ Silver Shroud. If you go out in some blaze of glory, shouldn’t it at least be for something _good?_ We can’t erase all the shit you’ve done but maybe you don’t have to die for it in this depressing, filthy room.”

“So what are you saying?” Kendra spat. “I come with you and suddenly everything is all fine an’ dandy? We shake hands, make up and skip off into the sunset? You think the ‘Wealth don’t know what kind of man Hancock is? You think I’ve got no pity? Lemme tell you, that corpse has more blood on his hands than I-“

“ _Watch it_ ,” Suit growled, straightening herself up and squaring her armoured shoulders on instinct, almost pleased when Kendra took a half-step back. “That’s my mayor you’re speaking about and your life rests in his hands. I don’t know you, but I want to give you an opportunity. Don’t throw it in my face for nothing. It’s not like this situation can get any worse. He’s not unreasonable.” _Probably_. “Come with me, Kendra. Lay down your weapons and come with me. It’s over now, and this is going down whether you like it or not… but at least this way you might have a better option. An option that doesn’t end in murder.”

Suit held her hand out hopefully, and Kendra eyed it for a while before letting out a deep exhale. The load on her shoulders seemed heavy as her posture dropped, and when she carelessly dropped her weapon and put her now-empty hand into Suit’s large metal gauntlet, Suit let out a breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding.

She smiled, even though the other woman couldn’t see it, and took several steps back, leading her out of the room.

“Well, I’m glad you decided to—“

_Splat._

“Oh GOD!”

Kendra’s body dropped abruptly, hitting the floor with a soft, wet thump; the side of her skull an explosion of red ribbons from the force of the exit wound from MacCready’s perfect headshot.

“What the biscuits?!” Suit lurched, looking down at the mess that was only seconds prior Kendra’s scowling face. “Why did the option end in murder?! What-“

She turned to the hallway to see Hancock and MacCready come stepping down jauntily, MacCready holstering his rifle back into position on its back harness with a self-satisfied look on his stupid face.

“Hey, great work there buddy!” The mayor slapped her on the back, strong enough for her to feel it. “Not how I woulda done it, but then I do _value your initiative_.” He grinned, his eyes a predatory dare under his smug brow-ridge. Instead of an argument he got the sudden sound of Suit vomiting in her helmet, too abruptly for her to silence it. He cackled. “Haha, aw _nasty_!”

MacCready came forward and reached out as if to gently reassure her, but his hand froze mid-way, hovering over Suit’s back as she emptied the contents of her stomach into her own helmet. “Oh _geez_ … boss are you okay? Can you…” MacCready wrinkled his nose, trying not to be too obvious as he leaned away from her. “Can you still see outta that?” He waved a hand in front of her as she collapsed to lean heavily against the door frame, ragged breath coming through for them to hear.

“Are you kidding me, John?” Hancock dragged his hand over his mouth in faux-remorse, an effort to cover up his snicker. “I stood up for you! You _are_ unreasonable!” She looked down at the body again, then turned back to leaning on the door frame. “I might as well have just held her down!”

“What!” Hancock’s sarcastic cry of shock caused MacCready to turn and cough. “I thought we were just following the plan!” Not able to hold his amusement in any longer, he snorted loudly and had to retreat into Kendra’s room under the guise of looting. “You were the one who changed it without informing us,” he choked out subtly. “How were we supposed to know? We can’t all be as smart an’ cunning as you.”

Suit and MacCready trailed after him into the room, MacCready to help loot and Suit to step gingerly over Kendra’s corpse, manoeuvring herself down into a sitting position on the floor and leaning forward in the hope that her juice-diet vomit would drain down her visor enough for the walk home. She was trying to be angry. She really was. Someone had _died_ – nay, someone had been _murdered_ – after all her effort, and yet as she leaned over, hands over her visor, she had to _will_ herself not to laugh, and it was only mostly from hysteria.

“I am becoming an awful, terrible person… and you are an awful, terrible influence.”

***

The foul deed was done and the calling card had been left on Kendra’s cooling corpse. The group opted to take a long way back to Goodneighbor through the burnt-out husks of the decaying financial district so that Suit could scavenge for supplies.

The men were in good humour, trading barbs and sharing foul Dandy Boy Apples, passing the box back and forth between them as they walked and occasionally flicking pieces at her to stick onto her plating as she judged them silently for putting that rot in their mouths. They did little to help and more often than not actually got in her way as Suit dug through old piles of refuse and overturned rotten furniture to get at the discarded goodness underneath, the day was calm however, and despite the noise the group was making the only trouble they ran into came from a lone zombie that emerged from under a burnt-out car when Hancock demanded Suit prove she could tip it.

“Why isn't it attacking you?” she yelled over at Hancock as she hurled the decrepit monster into the middle of the street so that MacCready could put it down permanently.

Hancock sat on the steps leading to a boarded-up doorway, casually rolling a cigarette, completely unperturbed and undisturbed by the feral.

“You didn’t know?” MacCready went through its pockets, pulling out an old tarnished flip lighter and unsuccessfully testing if it still worked. “Ghouls don’t attack other ghouls, even if they’re feral. They think he’s one of ‘em.”

Hancock shrugged, stepping over and taking the lighter from the merc, igniting it on the first try with a boastful grin. He lit his cigarette before discarding the lighter with a lazy peg.

“One of the many benefits of going ghoul.”

“That is… _fascinating!”_ Suit tapped her visor with a contemplative metal finger, gears turning in her skull. “Also incredibly useful! Is it smell-based? If I rubbed some of this blood on my armour would they ignore me too?”

“Hell if I know, brother, but don’t bother testing.” Hancock flicked his ash and motioned them onward with a fond shake of his head. “We do have an excellent sense of smell, an’ I prefer motor oil to rotten meat.”

“So what are the other benefits?” she asked as the three walked on.

“Well, I’m immortal for starters.”

“You’re kidding! Really?” That was crazy even by Suit’s new standards, and also very, _very_ useful.

“Probably.”

“Uh?”

“We might as well be. Ghouls age really, really slow.” It was always nice to see Suit get excited about something. Like a giant, metal puppy dog. “Plus we don’t really get sick like you smoothskins do.”

“I noticed you guys were pretty sturdy. Stone-for-stone you’re a lot stronger than a regular human your size would be.”

“Yeah, an’ radiation won’t do us in either. In fact it’s actually good for us. We can heal from it.”

“Wow, that’s handy. Can you still use Stimpaks?”

“Well yeah, but they don’t work so well. One of the downsides is we have an insane tolerance for pretty much everything. S’why I gotta take three times the chems to put me on my ass.”

“I did always wonder how you weren’t dead yet.”

“But that ain’t the only downside,” MacCready interjected with a snort. “You told him about the time Mags found your toe under the table?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Suit turned to Hancock expectantly. “You lost your toe??”

“It happens sometimes when you’re a ghoul.” Hancock explained with a self-deprecating smile. He tapped the collapsed cartilage where his nose used to be. “The toe ain’t nothin’ compared to the day this happened.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah…”

“…speaking of, um, _that_. Considering all the, uh… _friction_ , how is your… _you know_ , still…”

“Don’t even go there, man.” Hancock cut her off amusedly over the sound of MacCready’s erupting giggles, casting a side-eye that had the merc laughing subtly in a different direction.

“Hm. So all-in-all, you’re pretty much the pinnacle of apocalypse evolution.”

“Come again?”

“Well, you’re specifically equipped to deal with the main issue everyone is terrified of; namely the radiation. You’re strong enough to take on all the horrific bullshit the world is now throwing at you. Doctors are rare but you don’t really need them anyway, and since you have a higher healing factor than the average human, when _you_ fall down a hole it’s not the death sentence it probably would be for me or MacCready.” She looked at MacCready who gave her a wave of weak mortal solidarity. “Let me guess: you can go way longer without eating, too?” Hancock nodded, probably enjoying being the centre of an interesting though session. “So you store your intake more efficiently. Like a camel.” At their confused stares she waved them off. “It’s a cross between a horse and a backpack. I’d say this is an obvious statement, but…” Suit looked at Hancock thoughtfully. “Considering you don’t have eight thousand illegitimate children- you don’t, right?”

Hancock brought his hands to his chest in a gesture of surrender, laughing. He licked his lips and pointedly looked away.

It didn’t answer the question at all.

“Hm. Are you infertile?”

“Dude!” MacCready coughed at her, aghast. “C’mon man, you can’t just ask a guy if he’s infertile!”

“What!” Suit shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? It’s an innocent question!”MacCready spun on his heel and marched several steps away, taking point. “What!” Suit looked to Hancock, a confused hand indicating to MacCready, but there was no support forthcoming. “But you are, though, right?”

He just shook his head with a grin, bit down on the ruin that had once been his lower lip, and shoved her forward.

She’d have to continue this later.

***

Fortunately, Goodneighbor had not burned down in Hancock’s absence, though no doubt he probably had at least two murders and an explosion to deal with now that he was home. MacCready bid the two farewell at the gates, heading off to do some trading with that day’s crap and promising to return the costume later. Suit paused with Hancock outside the old state house.

“You comin’ up?” He nodded back at the doors behind him but Suit made a negative hand gesture.

“Uh, no. I still have vomit on the inside of my visor.”

Hancock shuffled back a step, cackling.

“I can barely see you. It’s not funny!” Suit slumped forward, eyeing him from between flecks of dried fruity vomit on her visor. “There was no need to do that.”

“You knew damn well what was going down.” Hancock was as unapologetic as always.

“No. I forgot. For a tiny second, I genuinely forgot.”

“Well next time you’ll remember.”

“Or maybe next time we could not shoot someone?”

“Hey, like I said: some people need helpin’, so we help ‘em, and some people need hurtin’, so we hurt those.” He shrugged and climbed up a couple of steps towards the doors. “You find me someone that ain’t an asshole, maybe they don’t end up shot.”

“Don’t put this on me! I can’t be responsible for that!”

“Well you have to be responsible for _something_.”

“Says who?”

“Ugh, enough.” He turned and stared at her, the added steps putting him now on level with her visor. “I wanna tell you good job regardless… but you’re covered in blood and vomit, so I’mma tell you to get the hell outta here and go clean yourself up.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.” She waved a metal hand and turned, “I’ll catch you tomorrow. I have things to do tonight.”

With that, Hancock went inside to his duties and Suit turned the corner, heading off in the direction of her hovel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always guilty I post so slowly, but my chapters are longer than average, so it all works out in the end.
> 
> Also thanks to all of you for not telling me I've been calling Daisy 'Carol' this whole time! I thought it was odd that I picked Carol when there'd already be one in the story.


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